


Getting Along

by rev_eeriee



Series: Getting Along [1]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, I don't wanna spoil what happens in the tags for you so just read it, I mean, It's Ouma and Momota, Love Hotel, M/M, Other, Oumota-centric, Student Council, in a love hotel, no smut though, takes place in chapter 3, ya nasties XD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-02-14 06:17:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13001652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rev_eeriee/pseuds/rev_eeriee
Summary: When Ouma woke up, his first thought was: 'I need to get out of here'.It was stupid, getting knocked out with some dirty sneak attack from a fake aikido master, being tied up with his tools taken away from him and locked inside the room with none other than the annoying Momota Kaito… it just irritated him to the core. He still has a lot of places to investigate and a lot of secrets to uncover. His time was precious, no one can tell who or when the next person was going to snap and commit their own murder. He was still worried about Harukawa who’s walking about outside, and the people actively ignoring how much of a danger she’s posing to the group… 'Idiots. They’re all idiots. It’s all up to me now. I don’t have time for this crap.'And yet, he was still here, In this stupid Love Hotel. With stupid Momota-chan. Locked in by a stupid cult.---AKA. Killing Game AU. Ouma and Momota gets trapped in the Love Hotel by the Student Council, forced to get along.





	1. “You play dirty, Angie-chan.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is my very first fanfic... so I'm not sure if I got things right. But I'm posting it anyway. I absolutely adore Oumota, as it is my NDRV3 OTP, and I've always liked their chemistry. I hope I was able to show it in this fic. 
> 
> I've decided to use the honorifics because I think it adds a bit more distinction in the relationships between people. Ouma calling Momota "Momota-chan" instead of "Kaito" just really appealed to me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Hotel Kumasutra.

Momota had gotten a lot of strange experiences since he was thrown into the Ultimate Academy for Gifted Juveniles. The killing game, talking robots, flashback lights, (ghosts? What ghosts? He ain’t afraid of ghosts!) and even the cult that fancied to call themselves the Student Council didn't even faze him anymore. He was Momota Kaito, Luminary of the Stars! He could handle anything!

… Or so he thought.

“Gonta?! What the hell?!” he yelled as he thrashed against the Ultimate Entomologist’s grip, trying to break free, to no avail. Gokuhara was many times stronger than he could ever hope to be, and now that he was in his grasp, there were no more means of escape. He didn’t have enough time to bolt away like that last time with the Insect Meet and Greet incident. What did Gokuhara even want from him at this hour of the day anyways? It was almost nighttime! When he glanced at him, however, he realized the entomologist didn’t look nearly as deadly as the last time he tried to kidnap him. In fact he almost looked… apologetic.

“Sorry Momota-kun. It's for your own good,” he replied as he brought him out of the dormitory into the courtyard and started walking to the path Momota knew well, to the casino. It only confused him more. “Gonta thinks Angie-san is right. Everyone should get along. Everyone should be friendly like the Student Council. That’s why Gonta is getting Momota-kun.”

Momota furrowed his eyebrows, looking more confused than ever. He gulped. Uncertain, unsure—not that he thought Gokuhara would hurt him or anything, the guy was too much of sweetheart; he would never hurt a fly. But Momota couldn’t help but feel like something _bad_ was about to happen. It was a hunch he got! He could feel it in his bones. Even though he tried time and time again to calm himself, he could not remove the dread that was curling around his gut—dread that turned into alarm when he realized Gokuhara was not heading for the casino at all, _no_ , he was heading for Hotel Kumasutra. Alarm that turned to horror when they he saw Chabashira and Kiibo holding tightly onto to a rather enraged and tied-up Ouma, who was giving Yonaga one of the deadliest glares Momota had ever seen. As soon as the artist saw them, she gasped, delighted. 

“Nyahahaha! Finally, he has come! Good job, Gonta!” Yonaga said, looking chipper as always, as if she did not just order her minions to kidnap two of their classmates in the middle of the night. She put her hands together and smiled brightly, genuinely pleased. “Looks like we have everything all set up! Praise be to Atua!”

“…all set up?” Ouma hissed, his expression darkening further. There was venom in his words, a silent threat. Damn, he had never Ouma him look so… guarded? Irritated? No. There’s something else… scared? _No way._ When Ouma’s eyes moved towards him and Gokuhara, his shoulders relaxed somewhat, despite his expression staying mostly the same.

Momota decided to ignore the little shit for now and talk about the situation at hand. “What the hell is the meaning of this, Angie?!” he demanded.

The artist tapped her chin with her brush, as if contemplating. “Atua said that if I left you two alone, things will get bad. Kokichi and Kaito always gets into fights, and we can’t let that happen! Atua wants this school to be a sanctuary of peace for his precious devotees!”

“Sanctuary, my ass! We’re all getting out of here! We’re gonna beat the ringleader, you know!” Momota confidently declared, and if Gonta hadn’t been holding on to his arms, he would have pressed his fists together to hammer that in. Yonaga, however, didn’t look fazed. He heard a small mocking scoff, having no doubt where it came from, but he ignored the little shit anyways.

“No, no, no, Momota,” Yonaga insisted. She had always had this weird aura around her that creeped Momota out. Tonight she was laying it on thick. “Greed is a sin Atua wants us to remove from our hearts. Soon you will see that Atua is only looking out for you! Because he’s a benevolent god!”

“Fine. Fine. We get it. Just tell us what you brought us here for already,” Ouma complained. His lips were curved into a faint pout, looking bored and impatient. His attitude has changed somewhat from a few minutes ago, when he looked like he was going to rip someone’s face off.

“Nyahahaha! Of course! Atua wants the two of you to get along! That's why we are going to make sure you two get along!” Angie raised her hand, and in it was a rather familiar, heart shaped key. Momota felt the blood leave his face, while Ouma had the gall to look amused. “We’re going to lock you in and not let you leave until you two have settled your differences! All in Atua’s will!”

“Being alone with Momota-chan? Wooow! It’s all I’ve ever wanted!” Ouma commented with an excited expression. “I’m sure Momota-chan would just _love_ my company!”

“What?! Hell no, I’m not agreeing to this—"

The next thing he knew he was being shoved into the room with Ouma Kokichi, and the last thing he heard was Gokuhara’s “Sorry!” as the door closed and locked behind them.

* * *

“Whew! For a moment there, I thought they were going to kill me. But that’s a lie!” Ouma said as soon as the door closed, grinning from ear to ear as usual, looking as innocent as a frolicking child. His hands were still tied up behind him, but he looked like he didn’t have any care in the world as he started moving his tied hands under his feet to get it in front of him, in a less straining position. He then frowned a bit with effort, and it took Momota a moment to realize he was trying to get something out of his pocket, rummaging around, looking for something. When he didn't seem to have found it, he sighed dejectedly. “I knew it. This won’t be easy huh? They took my lock picking tools and my pocketknife from me.”

“Pocketknife?” Momota had heard from Saihara that the little brat has some prowess in lock picking, but he didn’t know he carried around anything else. “Why would you have a pocketknife?”

“You’re so dumb, Momota-chan!” Ouma pointed out with an earnest expession. “Obviously it’s because I’m planning a murder!”

Momota shut his eyes tightly. Not even five minute has passed and the lying brat was already getting on his nerves. Killing, murder… those are things that people should _never_ joke about, especially not when you’re trapped in this Killing Game. And yet, Ouma kept prodding at the subject over and over, incessant, remorseless…

He tried to stop the urge to punch him.

“Stop lying and just tell me why,” he seethed, glaring at him.

Ouma tilted his head to the side in a questioning manner. “How could you say I was lying? I mean, what other reason would I have for walking around the school at nighttime? Obviously it’s for murder! You guys are all so slow that I just _have_ to take things into my own hands already, you know? You're all so boring!” he whined, like a spoiled child. “Unfortunately, Chabashira-chan snuck up on me and I got knocked out… and before I know it I’m already tied up. What bad luck. Why didn’t they tie you up too? This is so unfair.”

 _Probably because they all think you’re dangerous_. Momota thought. Perhaps it’s the Yonaga’s way of looking out for him. At the moment though, Momota didn't even know what to do. He was so tired of Ouma and his antics, so tired of all his lies. Hell, at this point, he didn’t even know what’s the truth and what’s the lie with the kid anymore… but so far, now that Momota thought about it, Ouma hasn’t really done anything to hurt anyone or the group… _yet._

So maybe for now it’s safe to assume all his fanboying over the Killing Game was a lie too. Or at least, that’s what Momota wanted to believe in.

“Hey, Momota-chan! I can’t untie myself. Help meee… If you do, I’ll make sure to give you a quick, painless death!”

 _Tch._ Momota clicked his tongue. _Annoying._ He decided to ignore him. First things first, he needed to get out of here. Turning back to face the door, he tried to turn the doorknob, but it only gave an unsatisfying rattle. Locked. _Dammit._ He then started pounding on the door. “Angie! Let. Me. Out!”

No response. He pressed his ear to the door. Silence. _Did they leave already?_

 _Does that mean… they’re actually serious about this?_ Momota gulped.

“Stop wasting your breath. Angie-chan’s got the Student Council wrapped around her little finger. Quite impressive, actually. I doubt they’d let us out without seeing that we...” Ouma trailed off, raising his hands to make air quotation marks. “...' _got along’'._ ”

“But that’s stupid!” Momota yelled, exasperated, as he glanced back at Ouma, who, surprisingly, was starting to get himself comfortable with their current living space. He was kicking off his shoes and tossing them unceremoniously to the side, and when he leaped down on the bed and settled among the soft satiny covers, he looked satisfied. In fact, for a moment, he seemed like he was about to fall asleep without a care in the world. Momota frowned. It was the first time he noticed it… maybe it’s just because of the mellow light, but did he always have those circles under his eyes? Didn't he look… tired? Shaking the thought out of his head, he scolded, “Hey! Aren’t you even worried about this?”

“Should I be worried?” Ouma asked in a sing-songy voice. A sly smirk played on his face as he sat up. “Why? Are you going to do something to me, Momota-chan? I mean, this _is_ a love hotel after all.” There was a hint of suggestiveness on his voice, a sultry tone that Momota caught on quickly. But that suggestiveness was gone as soon as it came, replaced by faux worry and crocodile tears. “Or are you gonna rough me up in here? They won’t let us leave if you hurt me, but you’re so dumb you don’t even realize that do you? Waaaaaah! You’re so mean!”

Momota rolled his eyes. He was really not in the mood to deal with Ouma right now. It’s nighttime, he’s sleepy, and for some reason he’s been feeling really weak lately. Talking to Ouma just drains too much energy.

“You know I’m actually glad Harukawa-chan wasn’t the one they suddenly thought to pair me up with.” The short boy continued, his sly smirk giving way to a more innocent one. In Momota’s opinion, innocent fit him better. “I mean, she would have killed me easy here, you know. I’d be soo scared if she’s the one here with me…” he trailed off, only to giggle. “Of course, that’s a lie. I’m not afraid of anything!”

The look in his eyes when Momota first arrived with Gokuhara flashed in his mind, that look of panic and fear. And his words, too… _Whew! For a moment there, I thought they were going to kill me._ Staring at Ouma, he couldn’t help but wonder. “Isn’t that a lie too?” 

Ouma blinked, and for a moment there, he was totally silent, staring at him with the blank expression. It was the same blank expression he had whenever he’s about to drop a bomb in class trials, an expression that honestly makes Momota feel uncomfortable. The tense silence continued on for a few moments, and then the Ouma laughed, laughed and laughed, as if he had just heard the funniest joke of the century.

Momota frowned. “What’s so funny?”

Ouma just shook his head as the last bits of laughter died off of him. He simply buried the side of his face in a pillow and gave Momota a knowing grin. “I didn’t expect that from you Momota-chan. See, you can be entertaining when you try! Unfortunately, you’re wrong. Because Supreme Leaders aren’t afraid of anything! It’s true!”

“Whatever. Suit yourself.” Momota replied as he walked towards the bed as well, taking off his slippers, and then his jacket. Ouma watched him silently. He sat on the edge of the bed and hesitated. It’s not like he has any other choice right? He just felt  _so tired_. Right. A good night’s sleep will fix this. The bed looked so soft, and the floor didn't really look appealing at the moment.

“Oh no! I have to share a bed with Momota-chan? Gross!”

“Well, if you’re against it, go sleep on the floor,” he snapped, which made the latter giggle.

“Nishishi. That’s a lie! I would love to be Momota-chan’s sleeping buddy. Isn’t this great? It’s like a sleepover!”

“Yeah, right.” He said as he lied down on, staring at the ceiling. The bed was quite big, so they could probably sleep without brushing against each other at all, which is good in his book. But he could still hear his breathing from this close, the dip of the bed where he lied down…

It was weird, sleeping beside somebody. Momota doesn’t remember the last time he did it.

He felt his eyes drifting close. And before he knew it, he fell into sleep.

* * *

 

When Ouma woke up, his first thought was: _I need to get out of here._

It was stupid, getting knocked out with some dirty sneak attack from a fake aikido master, being tied up with his tools taken away from him and locked inside the room with none other than the annoying Momota Kaito… it just irritated him to the core. He still has a lot of places to investigate and a lot of secrets to uncover. His time was precious, no one can tell who or when the next person was going to snap and commit their own murder. He was still worried about Harukawa who’s walking about outside, and the people actively ignoring how much of a danger she’s posing to the group… _Idiots. They’re all idiots. It’s all up to me now. I don’t have time for this crap._

And yet, he was still here, In this stupid Love Hotel. With stupid Momota-chan. Locked in by a stupid cult. He sighed.

Standing up, he started pacing around the room, looking for anything he might be able to use to get out, or _at least_  cut this nasty rope from his wrists. The knots were pretty tight, so he could not get it off of him. The struggling he did last night only made it more sore, the rope burn just getting more prominent. _This sucks. This is not fun at all_.

As expected, the room was filled with interesting objects. Mostly sex toys, really, but there was nothing in this room that could help him get out. No hairpins to make lockpicks, not even any kind of wire. _Geez. Angie-chan and her Student Council must have swept this room clean._ Surprisingly though, there were also things that shouldn’t be in here, like a fridge in the corner that’s filled with an array of different drinks—from water to fruit juices and even soda. Ouma eyed the grape-flavored Panta before realizing he wouldn’t be able to open it. How long were they even planning to keep them inside here anyways? Until they get along? What kind of vague deadline was that?

Groaning, he jumped back on the bed, burying his face in the covers.

“W-Wha—" Momota jerked awake with a gasp, clearly woken up by the sudden violent shift of the mattress. He was disoriented, still half-asleep, his hands up into the air in a comical position. Ouma stared at him and giggled.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” he greeted, the same way he had greeted Saihara not too long ago in the Insect Meet and Greet. The memory brought forth another unbidden—one of piranhas, clean bones, and a water tank tainted with blood. He swallowed the bile that was rising in his throat, and instead focused on the scene in front of him. The expression on Momota’s face was phenomenal, just the right mix of sleepy and confused that was actually kind of cute, but of course Ouma would never admit that.

“W-What? Ouma, what are you doing—" he looked around, and realization dawned in his eyes. “Oh. _Oh._ Yeah, right. The Student Council.” He pressed his index finger and thumb against his nose, as if he was having a headache.

Biting his lip, Ouma could not help but mess with him a little bit. He tilted his head and pulled off the most innocent look he could. “What Student Council? What are you talking about, Momota-chan? Don’t tell me you don’t remember?”

Momota stared at him, looking more confused as he brushed the sleep out of his eyes. “Hah? Remember what?”

“You’re so mean, Momota-chan.” He willed the fake tears to come, and as usual, they did. As easy as turning on a faucet. Too easy. “How could you forget?  Last night you confessed your love to me, and we spent the night in throes of passion---“

Momota’s face blanched. “W-What? I didn’t---“

“Was all that just a lie? You’re a liar, Momota-chan! I hate liars! Waaaaaah!”

“HEY! Stop messing around! That never happened!” Momota yelled, looking more alert and indignant now. He sat up and pointed an accusing finger at him. “Besides, there’s nobody insane enough here to actually sleep with a brat like you!”

Kokcihi raised an eyebrow. Was it just him, or is Momota’s ears turning pink? Flustered? Embarrassed? Or maybe just plain angry? _Interesting._ He grinned widely. “Nishishi. You got me. Of course that’s a lie! Angie-chan and the others locked us up here last night. The morning announcement already played by the way. It’s only a matter of time before the rest realize _you’re_ missing.”

Of course. Because nobody would care if it was Ouma who's gone missing. They were all already used to him doing his own thing after all, so it’s not unusual for him to miss breakfast meetings. On the other hand, Momota was… Momota. Social butterfly Momota. The guy who was always surrounded by people, feeding off his baseless belief and hope like parasites who didn't know what’s better for them. Momota had Saihara and Harukawa. And Ouma had… nobody.

The thought left a bad taste in his mouth. _It doesn’t matter,_ he thought. _That’s how things are supposed to be._

Momota grinned as he pressed his fists together, looking determined. “Ah, of course! Surely Shuuichi and the others will be able to convince Angie to let us out!”

Ouma shrugged. He doubted it. With them locked up, the balance of the school was already off, the Student Council outnumbering the regular students six to four. He briefly wondered if that was the point, if maybe that was the real reason Yonaga was getting them out of the way. If so, Ouma grudgingly commended her. The regular students out there were all hardly assertive, with the exception of Saihara, maybe. Saihara never failed to surprise Ouma, so he wondered what he’ll do this time. Regardless, with the majority of the students backing up Yonaga… this didn't seem like it would go well in their favor. 

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. The sound of the sliding deadbolt. Momota and Ouma both turned towards the direction of the sound, expecting one of their classmates, probably Yonaga, but to their surprise, it was the green Monokub, staring at them with his blank robotic eyes. Ouma’s eyes widened. _Well, fuck._

“EVERYONE-SHOULD-GET-ALONG,” Monodam muttered simply, as he then tossed what looked like two duffel bags into the room.

It was then that Yonaga poked her head through the side of the door, her wide grin still on her face. “Nyahaha! How was your night? We brought you breakfast!” She then proceeded to push a tray of food inside the room. It didn’t look anything as good as Toujo’s breakfast—just some pancakes, toast, and some fruit. The two prisoners eyed her as she hummed innocently, but neither of them made a move. How could they, when the homicidal Monokub, the one who murdered their siblings in front of their eyes, was standing in front of the door, watching their every move? _Very sly, Angie-chan._ Monodam was hung up on everyone getting along after all. With even him on her side, what little chance of them getting out soon with Saihara’s help had just dissipated into nothing.  

Ouma decided to humor them. “So… how do we prove that Momota-chan and I already got along anyways? I mean, Momota-chan hasn’t punched me yet, doesn’t that account for something?” he asked, hit with the urge to put his finger on his cheek, only to be reminded that _goddammit_ his hands were still tied after all.

“Hmm…” Yonaga tapped her paintbrush to her cheeks. “We're going to let you out... when Atua says so!”

Ouma’s eye twitched. It’s what he expected, but still. Despite Yonaga’s chirpy and seemingly peaceful personality, Ouma could definitely see the manipulator in her. She was setting her foot down to promote the kind of end that she desired. Locking up the two people who were most likely to defy her… they’re practically in her hands now, as long as she kept to her narrative about just wanting them to get along.

Yonaga didn't understand. Despite all of her work to make people _not_ want to leave the school anymore, her plan was flawed. The ringleader was bound to make moves to counter her, to continue the killing game. Ouma knew—things won’t go as simple as she wanted it to be. All she's doing was making herself a bigger target, a thorn on the ringleader's side. Soon enough she and her Student Council will stop becoming entertaining. As long as they do not understand what’s going on in this school, as long as they don't catch the ringleader off guard… they’d have no way to end this cycle of misery.

Ouma stared at her for a long moment, until she put her hands above her head with a bright smile.

“What’s the matter, Ouma-kun?”

“You play dirty, Angie-chan,” he muttered with a stoic expression.

“Hmm… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied, but her tone had a certain lilt, like she’s enjoying a personal joke. “More importantly, enjoy your breakfast!”

With a cheerful expression, she skipped out of the room and closed the door, locking it shut.

Leaving them in silence.


	2. “I'll believe in you too."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Momota and Ouma come to an understanding: a silent truce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaay! Chapter 2! 
> 
> Thank you for the support everyone gave me in the first chapter, it really fired me up and even gave me some ideas on how this fic is gonna go.

Last night, Momota felt tired.  _Really_  tired. He had accounted it to the fact that it was already late into the night, because  _of course_ there was nothing wrong with him. He could remember all his medical tests back in training.  _Nothing_ is wrong with him. He’s  _fine_.

So why was it that after a good night’s sleep, he was still feeling sick, even dizzy? And his chest… it felt strange. There was an uncomfortable sensation that didn’t quite pass as pain, but close enough. For a long while, he stared at the pancakes Yonaga brought, but he didn’t feel like eating at all. In fact, the mere thought of shoving food down his throat made his insides turn.

“… Momota-chan?”

Momota blinked out of his trance, only registering Ouma’s voice at that moment.  He turned his head in the direction of the voice and  was startled  to see the Supreme Leader peering in a little too close for comfort, tiptoeing to meet his gaze . There was mild concern on his face, though that too can be a lie. Who knew? Ouma was a pretty good actor after all, that much he could tell.

When they met gazes, the Supreme Leader grinned. “Earth to Momota-chan! What, are you so shocked of our predicament that your brain cells already died and rotted?" he looked dejected for a second, before snapping back into his cheerful tone. "Oh, right, I forgot that you don’t have brain cells anyway! That was inconsiderate of me. Nishishi.”

Momota rolled his eyes as he took his plate from the tray. “Leave me alone, Ouma,” he growled, ignoring him. What was he doing again? Right. Breakfast. He sat on the edge of the bed and started digging in.

“Hmm? Too tired to think of a better comeback today? Oh I guess, you’re better at throwing your fist than talking anyway.” Ouma replied. “But you know, even a Supreme Leader has things he cannot do alone, and for that he needs his minions! So, Momota-chan!”

“Hm?”  Momota was in the middle of putting a forkful of pancakes into his mouth when the brat skipped in front of him, showing off his hands . Momota had forgotten, but yeah, he was still tied up.  It looked nasty too, a bit  _too_  tight  now that he thought about it, to the point that Ouma’s hands were paler than the rest of his body . As if he wasn’t already pale enough.

“See? I’m tied up,” Ouma pointed out, staring at his hands  dejectedly .  “And now I have this wonderful breakfast in front of me, and bottles upon bottles of Panta in the fridge, but I can't even eat ! Or uncap bottles! This is torture, pure torture! What if I starve to death? Momota-chan, feed me—”

His voice  was cut  off  sharply  when Momota  suddenly  used his fork to stab a piece of pancake right into his mouth.  Ouma choked on it a little before he finally managed to chew and get it down, his eyes widening in what seems to be genuine surprise .  Him buzzing at his side like an irritating  fly  was already bad enough, making him feel dizzier, and if shutting him up was this easy then Momota would do it . He didn't feel like bantering today.

Ouma seemed to notice his change in mood, but didn’t comment on it.  _Odd_ ,  Momota noted.  He was sure the guy would jump on any chance to piss him off —he’s not above prodding him for why he was being so silent and dismissive, after all .  But instead, the Supreme Leader was watching him  intently , like he was trying to figure something out . Realization flashed on his eyes as he muttered.

“Momota-chan… are you sick?”

Momota shut his eyes, trying to suppress a shudder that ran through his body, a sharp pain blooming on his chest like a mockery, before  slowly  ebbing away . Once it was gone, he could breathe  properly  again. He opened his eyes to see Ouma still staring at him with that blank look—“It’s nothing,” he croaked. “I  just  got a bad cold, is all.”

“Hm~” Ouma hummed, letting it go.

That’s right. It’s  just  a bad cold. It’ll go away soon.

For a while they continued on like that, Momota feeding Ouma with his fork, but the more he looked at his tied hands the more he felt uneasy . Sure, Ouma was a liar, a shitty brat that he would  gladly  throw over his shoulder any day but do they  really  have to do  _that_?  That was… a little too much.  In fact, he was  just  about to suggest to let him take a look and see if he could do something about it when the Supreme Leader  suddenly  giggled .

“Nishishi. We’re sharing a fork, so in a way, isn’t this an indirect kiss—"

Momota stabbed another piece of pancake into his mouth, not taking any of his shit. Well, he was right, wasn’t he?  _ Argh _ . Why did he have to make everything sound so weird?  Ouma was frowning as he chewed and swallowed, and opened his mouth immediately afterwards to complain . “How mean, Momota-chan! Is that how you treat your beloved leader—"

Another stab. Another mouthful into his mouth.  Ouma looked a little indignant, even  genuinely  flustered, and Momota couldn’t help but grin . For the first time since  being trapped  into this room, he felt like he was enjoying himself. All at the expense of Ouma, of course, but that’s what made it fun.

When Ouma finally swallowed the rest of the pancake, he didn’t open his mouth again. Instead, he  simply  glared. Momota stared back, amusement dancing in his eyes.  They held their gaze there for a long time, gauging each other, and with Momota knowing he had the upper hand, he lifted up the fork once again . “More?” he smirked.

“No thank you!”  Ouma replied in a childish manner as he stomped his way to the fridge and got the grape-flavored Panta he seemed to be very attached to . Momota watched him as he tried to open the cap, but with his limited range of motion, it proved to be impossible. His eyebrows furrowed in frustration. “Nghh—Momota-chan! Open this for me!”

Momota laughed. “Serves you right.  Maybe  if you said please for once, you little shit— _ ow _ !” The next thing he knew the bottle sailed in the air towards him, hitting him square in the face. He groaned and rubbed where it hit, glaring at his roommate. “Hey! What was that for?!”

“Open it!”

“Hell no, why’d you think I’d take orders from you? Dream on!”

“I can’t do it, so you have to!” he insisted  stubbornly .

“After you  just  threw it in my goddamn face?!”

“I can’t help it! Your goatee looks horrible—"

“Leave my goatee out of this!”  Momota snapped as he tossed the bottle back with renewed vigor, which seemed to catch the latter off guard .  The Supreme Leader tried to evade but it was futile—the bottle hitting him hard by the stomach and rebounding to his wrist, before rolling down to the floor .  If Momota blinked at that moment, he would have missed it—the subtle flinch—but he didn't, and his attention  was brought  back on the rope on Ouma's wrists .

“Your hand looks like it’s dying,” he commented as he scratched the back of his head, then gestured with a finger. “C’mere.”

Ouma’s childish expression melted into a look of wariness and doubt, but he  _ did _  step closer towards him.  The second he was within reach, Momota grabbed at his arm and pulled him closer, turning his hands over to examine the knots . He couldn’t help but notice how small and fragile Ouma’s hands looked next to his own. Sometimes it was hard to remember that this guy is  just  the same age as him, if the monopads were to  be believed . Not that he  deliberately  tried to look up for more info in his profile… or anything.

…well, he  _ did _  look it up,  just  out of curiosity!  He  barely  knew anything about him—Ouma Kokichi was a book that’s  been locked  shut ever since this whole Killing Game started . He could never figure out the guy. One moment he was preaching cooperation, and the next he was praising the Killing Game. Momota ran a finger against the rope, deep in thought.

A giggle. “Are you into bondage, Momota-chan? If you're too kinky, even  I might  not be able to keep up!"

“Geez. Will you  just  shut up for one goddamn second?” he asked as he started to tug at Ouma’s restraints, searching for the end of the knot to try and unravel it.  It proved difficult at first, and every once in a while he had to use his nails or his teeth to untie a particularly stubborn knot, but soon enough it loosened, and he could see the color come back into his hands . Ouma flexed his fingers with an audible sigh, one of relief. Finally, it was off, and it was then that he understood... the reason why Ouma flinched when he  was hit by  the bottle.  Staring at his now bare wrists, Momota trailed a finger across the faint rope burn… the smaller boy shivered . Momota frowned, concerned. “How did it got so bad?”

Ouma shrugged. “I dunno. I toss and turn in my sleep.”

Momota looked up at him, trying to read his expression. Ouma stared back.  They held their gazes for  maybe  a little bit too long, and for some reason the exchange felt somewhat intimate . Momota’s expression softened when he asked. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in pain? I’d have taken it off of you sooner.”

He shrugged once again, this time offering no reply. Momota stared back at the abrasions, massaging the skin around it a little bit to get rid of the soreness. When he  accidentally  hit the wound though, Ouma hissed.

“Shit. Sorry," he muttered  reflexively . "This is... actually pretty brutal though, tying you up like this. When I see Angie, she’ll get a piece of my mind. This is  _ really _  unnecessary.”

“No. It’s smart,” Ouma replied. “I’m the one carrying a pocketknife in the middle of the night, Momota-chan.”

“But still. It’s not like you’re gonna do anything with it, right? I mean, could be for self-defense…” he trailed off.

“But it could also be for  _ murder _ .” The last word made Momota's heart drop to his stomach. The way he said it was... unsettling. Regardless, he shook his head.

“Nah. I don’t think you’re the kind of guy to do that,  honestly ," he said, and to his surprise he realized he was telling the truth.  Despite all Ouma’s strange actions and shenanigans, he’d still much rather believe that the guy wasn't as horrible as he makes himself out to be . “I mean, it’s  just  a hunch, but---“

The next thing he knew he was  suddenly  pushed down on the bed,  forcefully , with a strength he did not expect from such a small, lithe body .  He felt a sudden weight across his stomach that made him gasp, the pain in his chest spiking, and then he  just —couldn’t breathe .  Ouma was above him, straddling him by the waist, wearing his most terrifying smirk yet, as he felt the smaller boy’s grip tighten against his throat, pressing against his carotid artery .

“A hunch, huh? Didn’t I already tell you before, Momota-chan? Blind belief is meaningless.” His voice was dark, like poison.  “No matter what you believe, the fact stands that I’m dangerous, I have no remorse, I can kill you whenever I wanted in this closed space that Angie-chan  graciously  provided us .”  Ouma laughed, and Momota choked, putting his hands on Ouma’s and  just  trying to  _ fucking get it off _ —“They won’t find your corpse for days, Momota-chan ! I can make you make you disappear off the face of the school!”

Momota gasped—damn, for a kid his stature, he sure had a strong grip. Or  maybe  it was  just  that Momota was feeling  physically  weak right now. He didn't understand why Ouma is acting this way.  _Is he actually going to kill me?_   Panic flooded his veins, faces appearing in the edge of his consciousness. Shuichi… Harumaki… everyone who relied on him— _No_. He couldn’t die here. A hero doesn’t die in the middle of the story!

As black spots danced across his eyes, another image surfaced in his mind. The look in Ouma’s face when he first arrived with Gokuhara, a look that almost seemed like that of a little kid. Innocent yet scared…  just  like the rest of them. He still doesn’t know what  really  makes Ouma Kokichi tick, hell,  perhaps  he was never meant to. And yet…

Despite the lack of breath, Momota laughed.  Ouma's eyes widened a fraction, and Momota reveled in the fact that he was able to make a crack in whatever wall Ouma was building right now .  He stopped resisting against the force choking him to his death, and instead put his own hands on either side of Ouma's head, his fingers brushing against the strands of his hair as he pulled his head up, so that their forehead  were pressed  against each other .  He opened his mouth, savored every word that came out of it, despite the fact that he was so out of breath it was almost a whisper .

“B-But that's… a l-lie, isn’t it?”

Silence.

Momota stared deep into Ouma’s eyes. This up close, the colors in it was mesmerizing.  Seeing his expression, Momota couldn’t help but feel proud that he was able to stun  _the_   Ouma Kokichi, whose grip loosened as his hands fell down to either side of his body . Fresh air flooded into Momota’s lungs and he gasped, coughing hard as his body took all the oxygen it craved. The black spots disappeared in his vision. He only realized at that moment how scared he was. He was  so  glad that was over.

“Huh,” Ouma muttered, watching him recover himself  gradually . “Momota-chan is even more naïve than I thought.” His tone was mocking, but his expression remained blank. “I could have killed you, you know. I would, without second thoughts.”

Momota took a deep breath, calming his nerves... and laughed. “I don’t know about that. Yeah,  maybe  you would. But my hunch tells me you’re not a bad guy. So  just  as I believed in Shuichi and Harumaki… I’ll believe in you too.”

Ouma’s expression turn sour. “You don’t know me—"

“Yeah, I don’t!”

Now he looked  utterly  pissed. “Don’t you get it? I’ll  eventually  betray you. That’s  just  the kind of person I am!”

“So?” Momota said as he leaned away with a confident grin, patting his head like a little dog. Or a little horse,  maybe ? His hair was soft,  unsurprisingly  so. “If you do betray me, it’s my fault for believing in you! I’ll believe in you because I  _want_   to believe in you! It’s that simple!”

“I just  _strangled_  you," Ouma insisted, but he was staring at his chest, not meeting his eyes.

“Yeah… whew… don’t do that again, please.” He chuckled  nervously  as he rubbed his throat. “For someone so cute, you’re fucking terrifying.”

Ouma bit his thumbnail. His other hand tightened against his side, clutching at the fabric of his pants, as if he was at a loss of what now to do.  Suddenly , he got off of him, looking irritated as he was back to his own childish self. “Whatever!”  he yelled, his childish façade resurfacing, as he jumped off the bed and skipped in the direction of the duffel bags Monodam tossed earlier .  He opened them both and rummaged inside, only to take out clothes  similar to  his white straitjacket getup, his usual uniform .  _ So they brought us clothes, huh.  _ Momota was so spaced out he didn’t even think about checking the bags.

“I’m going to take a bath!” Ouma declared. “Your breath stinks, and your spit is all over me. Gross. Next time you cough, don’t make it so… bloody.”

Momota blinked, his hand flying to his mouth, only to realize that yes, he had coughed blood. Not a considerable amount… but it was worrying still. Dread settled in his stomach.  _ I’m fine,  _ he thought.  _ I’m fine. This is nothing. I’m  just  fine. _

Ouma was staring at him, he realized, and he clenched his fist.  _Heroes don’t die in the middle of the story._   “I’m fine," he said aloud, as if saying it will make it a reality. When Ouma still didn’t move, he snapped. “W-What? Go take your bath, you little shit.”

Ouma opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but thought better of it. Instead, he smiled  widely . “Okay! No peeking, Momota-chan!”  The bathroom in the corner of the love hotel room opened and closed shut, and soon enough the sound of the shower resounded from the room . The pitter patter of the water drops hitting the bathroom tiles…

Momota closed his eyes, thinking about all that has transpired. Ouma was a natural, he  just  acted as if nothing happened. Not the death threats, nor the attack, nor the fact that they both know Momota was talking bullshit. And yet, in a way, they  silently  agreed not to challenge the lie, despite how flimsy it already was.

And for some reason… Momota found that thought comforting.


	3. "Who cares if I'm okay or not?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ouma reflects on his actions.

As soon as Ouma entered the bathroom, he turned on the shower. But instead of getting out of his current clothes, he leaned his back against a wall, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

_So that didn’t work… huh._ He opened his eyes and was greeted by his own reflection in the far mirror, looking stoic and emotionless. If anything, he felt numb. He’s been feeling numb for a while now. The sharp, burning anger of being forced to watch people die over and over again has been sealed shut by a mask of ice, a mask he wasn’t planning on removing any time soon. He watched himself as he made a huge, cheerful smile: his usual. And then he notched it up to maximum, to a smile more similar to the one he showed Momota not five minutes ago. Crazed, psychopathic, bloodthirsty…

Instantly he noticed all the imperfections. Pure malice was what he was aiming for, but his eyes were a little too sane, his cheeks a little too tense. No matter what he does, he just wasn’t all that used to it after all, at least not yet. He absentmindedly wondered if Momota noticed it among his coughing and gasping. Probably not. _Momota-chan is an idiot after all._ Regardless, Ouma felt in that moment, when he was talking about blind faith _again_ much to his exasperation, that perhaps he should try it. A little social experiment.

He had strangled him, much like how Harukawa did just a few days ago. Momota probably would have resisted more if he was in better health, but of course Ouma wouldn’t let him die. He was counting the seconds in his head, making sure he won’t pass out. What was important was the act. He had seen the fear in Momota’s eyes. The astronaut was convinced for a while, but it was only for a few seconds. And then he laughed and… did whatever the hell that thing he did.

The way that ended still frustrated him, in more ways than one.

First and foremost, why the hell would that idiot readily accept and believe in someone who had just tried to kill him? That was insane. Illogical. Suicidal. Especially in the game where you can’t trust _anyone._

Secondly, it was patronizing. As much as the emotional connection was strangely satisfying, he still felt like his ego was somewhat bruised. Or maybe it was just his stubbornness making an appearance. Momota just seemed to have the talent of vexing him through the act of simply existing. But that’s not what was important here. What’s important was the final reason.

It seemed… that his plan of pretending to be the ringleader still had its flaws after all. It was still just a back-up plan at the moment, so maybe that’s why he couldn’t give his best show. The thought of assuming the ringleader's role still made him feel sick to the stomach. If strangling an ill person and attempting to murder them was not enough for Momota to finally think badly of him, then what would he have to do? How much dirt would he have to stain his hands for this? How much sin would he be willing to shoulder?

He didn’t want to think about it.

He stared at himself in the mirror again. He smiled his creepy smile, but this time he fixed all the things he found wrong, all the things that seemed off. _There,_ he told himself. _That’s the face you’ll despise with every fiber of your being._

He sighed, and smiled sweetly at the mirror. “I’m fine," he told himself.

As much as Momota and him wanted to believe otherwise, those words were still a lie.

* * *

Ouma felt so much better after that much deserved shower. The warm water soothed his chaffed wrists somewhat too, and the fact that he was no longer bound by the rope was heavenly. Putting on fresh new clothes, he started drying his hair with the spare towel from the bathroom as he stepped out with a flourish, smiling cheerfully. “I’m back, Momota-chan!”

He was expecting a response, a grunt at the very least, but to his surprise, there was none. Instead he saw Momota laying down on the bed, fast asleep, as far as he could tell. _Maybe that’s better, his body obviously needs some more rest,_ Ouma thought as he leaned down and took the Panta they were tossing around earlier, putting it back into the fridge and getting a new, colder one. He uncapped the bottle with a satisfying click and took a long gulp, letting the grape-y goodness soothe his throat.

Momota stirred. He groaned with a frown on his face and clutched at his chest, as if in pain. Not long after, he started coughing, and Ouma couldn’t help but feel dread when he saw a trickle of red at the edge of the Ultimate Astronaut’s mouth.

_Hemoptysis, huh._ He tried to run into his head all the illnesses he knew that could manifest those symptoms. He could think of a few, none of them good. He walked closer and sat at the edge of the bed, watching him silently. Momota’s coughing abated, and he relaxed, his face turning peaceful once again.

_"Just as I believed in Shuichi and Harumaki… I’ll believe in you too."_

Those words were something Ouma knew he shouldn’t be happy hearing, and yet he couldn’t help the way his heart skipped a beat at the very idea. It had been so long since someone tried to look out for him, not since DICE—and he was not even sure if DICE actually existed. For all he knew, all the memories he had now was a fake. He was not inclined to believe something as fishy as the Flashback Lights.

_"If you do betray me, it’s my fault for believing in you! I’ll believe in you because I_ want to _believe in you! It’s that simple!"_

Ouma scoffed. It was an idealistic sentiment, but ultimately a waste. Momota was too simple minded, too much of a shonen anime protagonist for his own good.

_"For someone so cute, you’re fucking terrifying."_

Absentmindedly, Ouma reached for Momota’s hand and placed it on top of his head, pinning it in place with his own. He closed his eyes, and for a moment pretended that he was being patted on the head again, much like earlier. Momota’s hands were manly hands—big and rough and calloused… and warm. Really warm. He stayed like that for a moment, just reveling in the feeling of comfort in his heart, until he finally snapped at himself. _What the hell am I doing? This is stupid._

He let go, letting Momota’s hands fall as he took another sip from his Panta, letting his thoughts drift away to the _more important_ matters. Like getting out of here, for example. Yonaga had been surprisingly thorough with this plan— as much as he hated to admit it, he had no clue how to get out. He was forced into a stalemate. In that case, did he have no choice? Will he have to do the waiting game after all? That was, waiting until the next body discovery announcement tears another chunk out of his heart, killing one of the people he considered his friends?

_No._ He told himself. _I’ll get out of here before that… somehow._

He stared at Momota once again, seeing the slow rise and fall of his chest. The rhythm of his breath was now regular, and Ouma found himself relaxing, slowly, realizing how tired he felt. The last few days had been spent exploring the school, slaving over blueprints and investigating past cases, so of course he’d be tired. He hasn’t slept well at night either. In his nightmares their dead classmates’s faces haunt him, people he had failed to save. It’s been a while since he had nothing else to do, and in that moment, he felt his body give in to the rest it has been craving. He laid down on the bed beside Momota, curling up next to him…

 

_Darkness. Silence. Silence that felt oppressive, as if a hand was still gripped on his neck, lifting him off his feet, red eyes of a killer glaring at the depths of his soul. Scared. So scared. He thrashed, he screamed, but he was voiceless. Useless._

“ _Who’s the most important person in your life?”_ DICE, _his own thoughts answered for him. There they are. Ten people he knew all his life. He reached out his hand, but he could never reach them. Betrayal shone in their eyes, a silent question. “Why didn’t you save us?”_

It’s not real. You’re not real.

_Memories. Dripping blood. A thorny vine. Dripping blood. A shot put ball. Dripping blood. The sound of a piano out of tune. A tank of water stained with crimson. Monokuma’s shrill laughter. Blood.  Prison bars. A chessboard. Broken pieces scattered all over the floor. Four are gone. Only twelve remain. The white king stands alone, slowly crumbling._

_And the grip tightened on his neck again, the crushing of his windpipe, all too real. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe. Death death death death death DEATH DEATH—_

 

**“Ouma!”**

 

He gasped, eyes fluttering open, clutching at the hand that shook him awake. For a moment, he was disoriented, trying to get his bearings, cold sweat dampening his forehead as his eyes flitted about, only to rest in a face that was both familiar and unfamiliar, staring at him with definite worry. _Huh._ He thought absently, even as the racing of his heart started to subside. It was Momota Kaito… but different. He was wearing just his shirt, a towel over his shoulders like he’d just taken a bath. His hair was damp, falling around just above shoulders, longer than Ouma thought they would be.

He laughed nervously. “Who the fuck are you?”

Momota seemed to realize right away what he meant, and frowned as his hand reached up to his hair and played with the tips on his fingers. “S-Shut up. They didn’t pack my hair gel with the rest of my clothes. I guess they didn’t find it my drawer.”

Ouma mentally noted that information, making an inner sigh of relief. _That means there’s just a small chance that they went snooping around in our room then,_ he decided. He was suddenly glad he left his notes and his motive video inside his bedside drawer last night. He knew for sure that he left his room locked, but the fact that they were able to get his clothes must mean they had somehow bypassed it, with the Monodam’s help, he could imagine. Either that, or they somehow made a completely new set of outfits for him, which wouldn't be surprising considering the monocubs already had hs measurements since day one.

He let his head run through the possibilities, like a well-oiled machine, making up possible scenarios and countermeasures for each and every one of them. If worse comes to worst and the Student Council _did_ find out about his plans…

Well, he could always lie. It’s always been the way he wriggled out of trouble.

“Hey… are you okay?”

It was only then that he realized he was spacing out, and he gave Momota one of his signature smiles. “Aww. Is Momota-chan worried about me?” he asked teasingly. “I didn’t know you cared so much about me.”

He expected Momota to make some annoyed remark, but to his surprise he simply frowned. “Yeah. Of course I’m worried. What’s wrong about that?”

Ouma giggled. “No, nothing. I just thought if anything, you should be more worried for yourself. You know, since you’re trapped with a dangerous guy like me, and all," he replied, stretching like a cat against the bedsheets, pressing the side of his face against the mattress, closing his eyes. But the moment the darkness took over, he could see the images in his dream once again, sending chills down his spine.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He heard Momota’s voice, and he opened his eyes to glance back at him, trying to read his expression. Momota looked… worried? He felt his heart fill with disbelief. It didn’t make sense. Nobody would care for someone like him. Someone so vile, evil and conceited… didn't deserve to be cared about. 

“Who cares if I’m okay or not?” Ouma asked with a huge grin. Who cares, indeed?

“I care!”

Ouma scoffed. “Really, now?” he mocked, his voice smooth as silk, taunting. “Why speak such an outrageous lie, Momota-chan? You don’t have to pretend to be so kind. I know for a fact how much you hate me.”

Momota scratched the back of his neck. “Geez, I’m not lying. You’re an annoying little shit, but I don’t hate you. You help us out in the class trials in weird ways. Sometimes you’re amazing.” Momota frowned and pressed his fist together, looking like he was contemplating something. It was so weird. Since when did Momota think before he speaks? Some of the strands of his hair fell over his eyes, and Ouma couldn’t help but think he looked rather… good. _Hot?_ He banished the thought from his mind in an instant.

Momota looked uncomfortable for some reason, but Ouma could see the shift in his eyes, from hesitation to steely determination. “I’ve decided! I appoint you to be my sidekick!” He grinned, widely. “That way, we can work together to end this killing game!”

Ouma raised a eyebrow. _What the… what now?_

Momota smiled brightly, putting a thumbs-up at him. “We’re friends now, so you’ll agree, right? Be my sidekick, Ouma! We can then work with Shuuichi. Me, you, him, and Harumaki, all four of us together! We’ll scare the crap out of Monokuma!”

_Oh my god. He’s serious._ Ouma couldn’t help but laugh, hard. He looked thoroughly amused, even though his heart was nothing but. “Pfffft, Momota-chan, you're so funny! My stomach is hurting, stop!” he said between fits of giggles, sitting up as he clutched on his stomach, laughing until he couldn’t breathe anymore. Momota’s expression grew more and more indignant, and then annoyed.

Ouma wheezed, catching his breath, before suddenly dropping all his expression altogether, staring at Momota with a serious gaze. “In your dreams, dumbass. You think with a few choice words and a hug, you can crack me? You think you, oh brave hero, can make me follow you like a naïve puppy? Bull. Shit,” he hissed. Momota flinched, and Ouma took that as a confirmation. Was Momota just lying to get him to cooperate? That made him feel even more mad. He shouldn’t be surprised, though. People lie all the time. The thought made him feel sick to his stomach. “Sure, I adore my beloved Saihara-chan, but I would rather die than cooperate with a killer like that red-eyed bitch. And for the record, we’re not friends. I still, and will always, _hate_ you,” he said as he violently pushed a rather shocked Momota out of the way, standing up and walking away from him, getting another Panta in the fridge.  

_That should keep him away… right?_ _Who does he think he is anyway?_

Momota was silent for a long while, and Ouma glanced back at him just in time to see the genuine hurt in his eyes. Ouma almost felt guilty, but that didn't make sense. Why should he feel guilty? Momota had it coming. He couldn’t help but wonder though, in the back of his head. What if he was actually being sincere?

_Ouma Kokichi…_ he thought to himself. _Why do you keep pushing people away?_

He didn't know either.

It’s not like he could help it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was an Ouma-centric chapter 3, after the Momota-centric Chapter 2. I wanted to make this longer, but I didn't have time. 
> 
> Ouma is... very hard to crack apparently, especially since I kept the Killing Game AU. *sighs* It's just so hard to make him open up without getting out of character, so... enjoy the slow burn, you guys! XD


	4. "Did you mean it?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to get... complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Belated Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year everyone! 
> 
> So... as I have said, my updates will be late but as I already finished a couple of chapters, I thought you guys deserved a treat! 
> 
> And again, the characterization still makes me nervous, but since I've already written several chapters, I just... started to stop caring. I didn't have anyone to beta read it for me anymore so... haha, if this is a shitty chapter please roast me in the comments and pour Panta over your eyes. Thank you! XD

The next few days were painfully awkward after that. Momota couldn’t help but feel like he was to blame.

Ouma seemed to be determined to pretend he doesn’t exist. Not once after that exchange did he refer to him in any way, shape or form. The room had become so silent that sometimes Momota simply wished Ouma would pester him again, if only to distract him from his own thoughts. He couldn’t believe that there will come a day that he’ll miss the shorter boy’s teasing.

The only moments of relief Momota gets from Ouma’s self-imposed solitude was when a member of the Student Council enters the room to deliver their meals. It was almost interesting to see the way Ouma perks up with a childish smile on his face, as swift as putting on a mask, teasing and prodding the shit out of their fellow classmate, which more often than not ends up with that person giving Momota a look of pity before leaving the room. To them, it must have looked like Ouma was just being his usual annoying self, and there was a time that Momota would agree, but now he knew better. It seems he was trying to get information, milking clues out of them to figure out what’s happening outside.

Ouma’s agitation to get out was one of the things that surprised Momota, if he’ll be honest. Sure, being imprisoned sucks, but it’s not like they’re in any danger or anything, even if the Supreme Leader seems to think otherwise. Most of the his time was spent biting his thumb or playing with his hair while glaring at the door, looking like his mind is moving a hundred miles per hour. One time, Momota had gotten so curious about this behavior that he asked him why, but Ouma’s response was simple, dismissive. “Because it’s so boring here.”

Momota didn’t really believe him, but Ouma wouldn’t respond any other way. He said it while his mind seemed to be off in other directions too, as if he’s rattling off an automatic response from an answering machine. Ouma does that a lot, he realized, and it was then that he started to take on the hobby of observing his antisocial roommate. After all, it’s not like he had much to do.

Observation number one: Ouma hated being observed. Well, Momota supposed nobody would really like that either, being stared at like a subject under a microscope. He didn’t bother to hide the fact that he was staring, and sometimes it did seem to make Ouma uncomfortable. During those times Momota would grant himself a congratulatory slap on the back. _Hah, serves him right._ Regardless, the guy still refused to talk to him, still refused to even tell him to cut it out.

Observation number two: Ouma’s nightmares were a nightly occurrence. Momota is still deeply troubled by it, but the guy experiencing said nightmares seemed to be content with letting the matter get swept under the rug. Every morning Momota would wake up to him gasping, clutching at his sheets so tight he could rip them apart, eyes shut tight with a look of pure fear as beads of sweat dotted his too-pale skin. “Toss and turn” Ouma called it, but that was a grave understatement. It was no wonder that he got those nasty rope burns after the first night. _What the fuck was he dreaming about, anyway?_ Momota could only wonder. It felt so wrong to see someone like him look so vulnerable, and whenever he wakes up, he always had that expression on his face that broke Momota’s heart. Ouma was quick to bounce back from his night terrors though, almost as if he was used to it, which only worried him even more.

Observation number three, and the one that frustrated Momota the most: Ouma… seems to hate affection. Or at least he likes to pretend he does. Any gesture of trust or kindness was lost on him. Whenever Momota tries to give him any sort of encouragement or reassurance, he would only shoot him a dirty look, and then mutter under his breath. Momota would have already given up on trying to coax him, if not for the fact that sometimes in the middle of the night, the shorter boy would snuggle closer against him, as if yearning for warmth. Ouma was more honest when he didn’t think he was awake.

That was… actually kind of endearing.

It was in the fourth day when their monotonous prison life had taken a bit of an unexpected twist. That morning, they were expecting some Student Council member to serve them their breakfast. Like the usual. But to their surprise, it was none other than Saihara Shuuichi, the Ultimate Detective himself, who ended up pushing the tray into the room. He looked apprehensive as he entered, but was then relieved when he met Momota’s eyes. Before he could speak though, Ouma’s expression brightened, standing up from the bed and skipping towards the detective excitedly. “Saihara-chan! What a surprise!”  

Momota felt a pang of… _something…_ in his heart. Envy? _That makes sense_ , he supposed. He hated to admit it, but he’s always been envious of Saihara’s detective skills, envious of how reliable he could be when it counts. Beside Saihara, who is working hard to overcome his flaws and keep the group alive, he felt like a one trick pony. A faker. Saihara is the real hero here, he knew. Even Ouma acknowledges that fact.

And yet, he felt a different flavor of bitterness this time around. The fact that Ouma, who had ignored him for days on end, would just jump on Saihara’s arms so easily… it left a bad taste in his mouth.

“Hello to you too, Ouma-kun.” Saihara muttered, uneasily, visibly wary of Ouma’s antics. He then glanced over to Momota and gave a nervous smile. “I’m here to… deliver breakfast.”

“Breakfast, huh? I’m surprised Angie let you take these to us alone.” Momota remarked, passing along the dirty dishes from last night’s dinner. “It’s been four days, Shuuichi. Any ideas on when we’ll be able to go back outside?”

Saihara shifted uneasily. “Well, that’s…” he cleared his throat. “That’s… for Atua to decide.”

Momota’s eyes widened. Ouma whistled, seemingly amused. Saihara, on the other hand, looked like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him.

“Soo…” Ouma was the first to break the ice, placing his arms behind him and tilting his head a little bit. “I suppose that means you’ve joined the league of crazies, huh, Saihara-chan? I’m so disappointed in you!”

Saihara seemed to shrink even more at that comment, his ears turning red from embarrassment. “I-I…” Saihara stammered. “Well… Angie-san just wanted everyone to get along and I… thought it was for everyone’s best interest.” he glanced at the door. Monodam was there guarding the room as usual, watching him with his blank stare, and instantly Momota understood. Saihara was doing this for their sake, for this chance to be able to talk to them.

Suddenly he felt a new surge of respect for the guy.

“Wow.” was all Momota could say, laughing nervously. “You’re really something, Shuuichi.”

“I suppose it must have been a real shit storm out there, huh.” Ouma commented, clearly in on the ruse as well despite his initial reaction. Saihara looked very relieved to see that they both understood his intentions.

“The Student Council… has become more and more powerful each day.” Saihara muttered carefully, looking worried.

Ouma seemed like he was pondering something for a moment, before asking. “Did everyone else already join in the Student Council too?”

Saihara hesitated. “Not really… Shinguji-kun didn’t join in but he seems interested about the Necronomicon… He’s been spending a lot of time with Angie-san lately. Harukawa-san refused to talk to anyone, and Iruma-san is holing herself up in her research lab.”

A ghost of a smile slipped past Ouma’s lips as if he’s heard something he really, _really_ liked, before grinning widely. “Nishishi. I see! So, what do you have here Saihara-chan? I’m starving!” he walked closer to the tray of food and started opening the covers to peer inside. Meanwhile, Saihara gave Momota a questioning stare and whispered. “Is he giving you a hard time?”

Momota stared at Ouma for a while before scratching the back of his head. “On the contrary. I wish he’d just finally go back to pestering me.”

Saihara stared at him as if he just said _“I wish carnivorous bugs would eat through my flesh.”_ He stammered. “A-Are you feeling alright, Momota-kun?”

Before he could even answer, Ouma yelled loudly, catching their attention. “Booo!” he said, as he lifted the covers of the food up and frowned at its contents. Miso soup, some rice balls… it was a Japanese breakfast, and it looked so good that Momota had to wonder who cooked them now with Toujou gone. Ouma, however, looked very unsatisfied, making a scene like a spoiled child. “These suck! I don’t like rice balls or soup, I want cookies! Or maybe--- no, no, some pie!”

Saihara looked a little bothered, despite still being polite. “Ouma-kun, I don’t think it’s reasonable to be picky right now---“

“No! I want pie! Pieeee!”

Momota frowned. Ouma had never complained about the food, not once ever. In fact, now that he thought about it, Ouma _always_ ate what food they’re given (after inspecting it, of course, since he is nothing if not slightly paranoid) and never wasted a single grain of it. He’s not as childish as he likes to pretend he is. So why is he making such a ruckus now---

“Ah! I know! Saihara-chan, you should tell Iruma-chan to bake something for me. I’m really craving it right now.” Ouma grinned.

“I told you she’s holed up in her research lab---“

“ _Exactly._ “

There was such an emphasis on the stress of his tone, that it made Saihara pause, placing a hand over his mouth like he always does when he’s thinking. Ouma was smiling innocently as usual, and Momota frowned, not really understanding what the hell is going on. After a while, however, Saihara’s eyes lit up, as if he had an epiphany.

“A… pie, right?” Saihara muttered.

Ouma nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! Tell Iruma-chan I command her to give me the biggest, tastiest, apple pie she could bake!”

Saihara slowly nodded. “I, uhh… I’ll be back soon. As soon as it’s ready.”

“Yeah! Hurry, Saihara-chan! Chop chop!”

* * *

 

Silence drifted across the room once again as soon as Saihara left the room. Ouma was pleased to see that Saihara seems to understand what he is getting at. He must have spent some time with Iruma if that was case, and knew the inventor’s knack of putting strange things into the food she makes. Hopefully, Iruma gets it too. It’s not the first time that he had asked her to make something for him. He could still clearly remember the prototype of the Bugvac they are making together, hopefully still safely tucked inside her research lab. Once it was done, he’ll probably be able to walk around the more restricted areas without Monokuma’s notice. Maybe.

He had no idea what is in store for him inside that pie… A lockpick would suffice, but if Iruma is already getting terribly frustrated by the situation, he’ll probably get something… flashier.

It’s been four days already. Four days without a new murder… as much as it should relieve him, it instead filled him with dread. Four days without anything relevant occurring is too boring if people truly are watching them like he suspected. He supposed without him outside to stir up conflict and make things interesting, the others would just go about their lives doing their exact same boring routines. Monokuma would not be happy about that. After all, the bear would be willing to bend over backwards just to keep this game interesting. Soon, a new motive would be introduced, he’s certain of it.

 _Another motive…_ he had a really bad feeling about what Monokuma would cook up. He hoped Iruma and Shuichi would hurry up soon.

If he managed to get a way to open up the damn door, then the only remaining problem would be Monodam, who’s usually situated on guard outside their room. But maybe with a few choice words and some acting, he could convince him that he managed to open up the door through the power of teamwork and friendship… or some cheesy line like that.

The Student Council would be restrictive, but once he’s out and about, there would be no problem. Even if they try to capture him again, he’s sure he can get away. This time, he’ll be on his guard. This time, he won’t let some dirty sneak attack get the better of him. One he’s out, he had to _something._ Something to make up for the four days of monotony. Something to excite the audience. Otherwise… Monokuma will get desperate, and things will get messy. He just knew it will.

Momota was watching him again. He could see him from the corner of his eye. _Ignore him._ He told himself, but as usual, a small part of him still paid attention to what his unwanted roommate is up to. For one thing, he looked pretty confused, like he was trying to figure out a puzzle. His lips opened and closed as if he was trying to keep himself from asking something. It was a look Momota did not wear often, a look of hesitation. Momota Kaito always seemed sure of himself out there, but now that Ouma thought about it, that too was perhaps a lie. The longer they stayed here, the thinner their masks are becoming, though Ouma always made sure to reapply a generous helping of coating to his own. At least, he hoped so.

Ouma took a rice ball from their breakfast tray and started eating, contemplating on what lies ahead. The rice balls tasted quite good, above average, but not quite on par with Toujou’s. _Toujou._ He swallowed hard, trying not to think about that morning when she first made them her heavenly breakfast, telling them how it would be her pleasure to serve _everyone_. In the end, when it turned out that they were no longer included in her _everyone,_ when he had foiled her attempt to trade all their lives for her escape, that look of pure hatred on her face…

_“You are the most detestable cretin I have ever met.”_

Suddenly the rice balls didn’t taste as good anymore. He reached for the miso soup, swallowing it down with the bile rising in his throat.

“I thought you said you didn’t like this breakfast.” Momota finally started. Despite being ignored for days, he still seems determined to try and talk to him in moments like this. Ouma really couldn’t understand why. He thought him leaving Momota alone would make the guy ecstatic. Apparently not. “I feel like you and Shuuichi were talking about something else there… so what gives? I don’t really get it.”

 _Of course you won’t, because you’re so dumb, Momota-chan._ He wanted to say, but he held his tongue. He _really_ didn’t want to entertain a conversation with him right now. Or ever. He’s not quite sure why he’s ignoring him… but it doesn’t matter. Most of Ouma’s time here in the Ultimate Academy had been spent collecting the cooperation of useful people and Momota is not one of them. He had nothing to offer but baseless belief and emotional sentiments. He is good at inspiring people, he supposed… but Ouma doesn’t need that. One look at the atrocities happening around him and he’s inspired enough.

Momota, ever determined, simply sighed. “Hey, will you _please_ stop ignoring me for once? This is kinda important. I mean, you guys are plotting how to get us out of here, right?”

No response.

Momota sighed heavily, already sounding irritated. He always had a short fuse, as far as Ouma is concerned. “Ouma, I swear to Angie’s god, if you don’t start talking to me now, I’m going to punch your face in or… something!”

He rolled his eyes. _There_ _he goes again._ He couldn’t help but make a quip of his own. “Oh please, Momota-chan. I doubt you can even pack a good punch anymore.”

Momota narrowed his eyes. Ouma was talking about his health and both knew it, although it almost became a silent agreement not to ever mention the fact. Regardless, he grinded his fist to his palm. “Wanna find out?”

They had a small staring contest, neither of the two boys backing down. At this point, Ouma is not really even sure what they were arguing about anymore. So many unsaid words seem to hang in the air around them, and finally Momota’s gaze became more determined.

“Did you mean it?” he asked.

Ouma had a feeling he knew what he was talking about, but he pretended otherwise. Instead, he simply tilted his head, smiling innocently. “Mean what, Momota-chan?”

“What you said. Hating me.”

 _No._ “Yes.”

Momota sighed and muttered under his breath. Something with the words “stubborn” and “damn brat”. Ouma knew that despite all his attempts, Momota didn’t really buy it, for some reason. He seemed to be determined with his assumption that Ouma is a good person, too, which both pleased and irritated him. Ouma simply ignored him as he continued eating without a word.

Finally, Momota muttered. “Okay, I get it. If you find it annoying, then I’ll stop trying to be friends with you. I mean, if you thought being my sidekick was so bad then don’t. I’m just saying: can’t we at least be civil?”

“What are you talking about, Momota-chan? We _are_ civil. We’re so civil that we don’t even bicker anymore---“

“You can’t call it civil when you don’t even act like I exist---“

 

**_BOOM!_ **

****

A loud explosion resounded just from outside the door. Ouma and Momota’s heads immediately snapped towards its direction. The room was supposed to have wonderful insulation, as far as Ouma could tell, but the explosion was too loud, too powerful, too close--- it  even rattled the door at the impact. When the door opened slowly, both of them held their breaths. Ouma’s heart was pounding. Somehow he knew what comes next.

And it wasn’t good.

“Upupupupu.” The black and white bear muttered as he stepped into the room, looking very pleased with himself. “Look at what we have here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upupupupupu.... 
> 
> Monokuma is back! Haha, if you are expecting pure fluff for this fic, sorry, but this scene has been in my mind since chapter 1. 
> 
> I'm having a lot of fun writing this, which was unexpected to be honest. I thought it would get me stressed out. Thank you for the wonderful comments, I'll keep doing my best! :3


	5. "This would not be Danganronpa without Monokuma!”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monokuma introduces the new motive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update! 
> 
> Much love and thanks to SnowyDawn17, for taking time and beta-reading my shit. XD 
> 
> Chapter 5 and 6 were supposed to be one chapter, but I split it because I felt like it got too long. Still, I thought I wanted to get both done and over with, so I'm posting both today! :)

_Shit._ Ouma thought. _We’re too late._

Before them Monokuma stood with his signature grin, hands in front of his mouth like he was up to no good, which was probably pretty damn accurate. The patches of baldness all over his body was now gone, and he looked as healthy as ever. Outside the door, Ouma could vaguely see pieces of wiring and metal, some parts looking unmistakably green. _Monodam_. _He’s dead._

That must have been what the explosion was all about. Ouma resisted the urge to clench his fists. Beside him, he heard Momota make a strangled yelp.

“Upupupupu. Hello boys! Having fun?” Monokuma chimed in a sing-songy voice, like he didn’t just blow up one of his kids to get inside this room. “Things are getting so _boring_ around here, I thought I could give you guys a small visit!”

For a moment, Ouma could not speak. His voice was caught in his throat, his mind unable to procure the right words, which was why he felt almost relieved when he heard Momota yell indignantly in his place. “We don’t need your ‘visits’, you damn bear! What the hell are you up to this time?”

The bear had the audacity to blush, placing his paws in front of his face. “Upupupu. What indeed?”

 _Calm down._ Ouma told himself, willing the dread in his heart to dissipate. It didn’t, not entirely, but he finally felt functional enough to act. He pulled on one of his most unbothered smiles and held it in place, even though his cheeks hurt with effort. “Wow. It’s Monokuma! I thought I’d never see you again, alive and well.”

The bears red eye flashed with amusement. “But of course. This would not be Danganronpa without Monokuma!”

 _Danganronpa._ Ouma noted. An unfamiliar word, but he made a mental reminder to reexamine it later. It was not unlike Monokuma to make remarks that break the fourth wall, a small salute at the audience, he supposed, one that Saihara and the others tend to dismiss as nonsense. The most decisive hints he gets are usually from the bear himself, truth be told. Monokuma loves his own inside jokes.

Momota huffed. “Just tell us what you want and get over with it.”

 _Straight to the point._ At that moment, Ouma loved the fact that he had hotheaded, impatient Momota by his side. Asking straightforward questions was just so out of the “evil Supreme Leader” persona.

“Well, it’s been so long since the last motive, and the whole ‘Age of the Monokubs’ shtick was getting old, so I thought the star of the show--- yours truly--- should rise once again, because that’s what the Killing Game is all about!” Monokuma laughed boisterously, placing his paws on his stomach. “And what better way to welcome me back that good old fashioned _murder_!”

Momota paled, looking sick. Ouma wished he had the same luxury. He wanted to show how utterly disgusted he is about this entire show, how much he wanted to rip into tiny little pieces, but he had his reputation to worry about. Instead, he grinned, looking excited. “Cool! Monokuma is back in action! I always liked you better than the kubs!” _Lie._ “So? Are you finally getting us out of here? This place has been suuuupppeeerrr boring. I’ve been itching to do some killing already, and this guy---“ he pointed his thumb at Momota. “--- is just not worth it at all. He’s too easy! I wanna play my hard mode now, so let us out!” _Please say yes please say yes please say yes---_

“On the contrary, I thought leaving you two here for now might just make things a little bit more interesting.” The bear said slyly.

_SHIT!_

Ouma had to shut his eyes for a moment to gain his composure back.

Momota frowned, disapproval and disdain written in his face, but dominating through it was utter confusion. “How is that supposed to be interesting? If you just leave us here again, it will just be the same old ---”

“You’re wrong!” Monokuma laughed. “ _Nothing_ will be the same! This idea is fresh, never seen before! Because this time around, gentlemen, the motive… is _you!_ ”

 

* * *

 

 

Momota couldn’t believe his ears.

What… the… fuck?!

"What the hell are you talking about?!" He demanded, taking a large step forward and drawing back his right arm. He wanted to pummel that damn bear, god knows he wants to, but a sharp warning look from Ouma froze him in his tracks. His rising temper broken, Momota dropped his hostile stance and let his clenched fist fall. Ouma seemed a little too calm right now--- no, he was only pretending to be calm, Momota realized. The kid ( _He’s older than me,_ he tried to remind himself, but with his physique, it’s just so easy to forget) almost looked like he expected this to happen. Ouma smiled slyly, placing a finger on his lips, looking interested.

“Oh?” he muttered. “You say some interesting things, Monokuma.”

“But of course! I thought _you_ of all people would be delighted by this setup! This won’t bore you, so listen up!”

“Okay!” Ouma replied enthusiastically. His lilac eyes were sparkling like a little kid on Christmas morning. “This better be good! You listen too, Momota-chan! It’s only fun when everyone is playing seriously.”

 _Not again._ Momota thought, frowning. Only Ouma ever referred to the Killing Game as a literal game, and it was not something Momota approved of. Human lives were worth more than being sacrificed for someone's damn amusement. And yet, the Supreme Leader always acts as if this was just one huge elaborate game, one made for him to have fun with.

But is that really the truth? Does Ouma… really think that way?

Momota didn’t think so. Rather, he wanted to believe that Ouma didn’t think so. But if that wasn’t really how Ouma felt… why lie? He didn’t get it all.

He didn’t get Ouma Kokichi at all.

“From this day onward, I'm taking custody from the Student whatever bullshit you guys have been doing. You are now my prisoners. Which means: no meals! No supplies! I’ll be taking your fridge by the way.” Monokuma stated, to which Ouma gasped in horror.

“No! Not my Panta!”

“No dice!” Monokuma replied, savoring it like an inside joke. Was that Momota imagination, or did Ouma just flinch? Before he could think about it, the bear continued. “I’ll let you out once a murder occurs! Outside, or inside, doesn’t matter!” he gave an amused chuckle. “The drama of knowing that their precious classmates are slowly starving to death, the regret of knowing it was their own fault, isn’t it heart-racing? Exciting? Who, I wonder, would break under the pressure? Saihara-kun seemed very distressed when I told them about the motive this morning. Upupupu.”

Momota’s eyes widened. White hot anger simmered beneath the surface. His fists itched to meet cold metal. “Shuuichi would never---“

 “Whaaat? That’s it? But nobody cares about me.” Ouma muttered almost whiningly, which caught Momota off guard. But Ouma simply brushed it off like it was common knowledge, tapping his foot impatiently. “So? Do I just rot here or something? That’s so mean!”

Monokuma’s red eye flashed once again. “Well, as long as a murder occurred outside, you’d be free as well anyways, whether the murder was for your sake or Momota-kun’s. But I thought that would be too boring for you, so in that case, I brought you guys a present!” He clapped his paws, and immediately the two remaining Monokubs appeared out of nowhere holding two medium sized gift wrapped boxes: one black, and one white

“Rise and Shine, Ursine!” the Monokubs said in unison, holding out their gifts to the two of them.". Momota reluctantly took his --- the black one--- and peered inside. Instantly, he felt sick to his stomach. There were weapons inside; a hammer, a kitchen knife, a small dumbbell, a rope, a bottle that looked like it might be filled with poison… even a shot put ball and a pair of handcuffs. Inside was also a booklet: _101 Easy Ways To Murder Your Roommate: Step by Step Illustrations included!_ by Monokuma. Is this the bear’s idea of a joke?

"This is not funny." He grit his teeth and threw the box at the wall with enough force to send its contents spilling across the floor. Ouma didn’t even open his, but he laughed as he saw the murder paraphernalia Momota had just tossed away and held onto his own box like it was his lifeline… which it probably was. The thought made Momota nervous, remembering Ouma’s hands like a vice around his neck. _No._ he tried to convince himself. _He’s better than that. He won’t really kill me… probably._

“Aww. I thought it was charming. Read the book, I worked really hard on it!” Monokuma replied. “And pick those stuff back us ‘cause you’ll need it! If you want to put your dear friends out of their dilemma, that is!”

Momota pressed his fist together. “I told you already, Shuuichi woud never kill anyone! Harumaki too! I believe in them!”

“All the more reason to use your gifts!” Monokuma cackled. “If nobody dies, you two are done for! This is your chance to kill, and I’ll even let you get away scot-free! The class trial will be boring if there’s only one suspect, anyways.”

“Daddy doesn’t like boring trials.” Monophanie commented.

“Damn right!” Monotarou pitched in. “Wait, who’s daddy again?”

As the Monokubs started to fight over nonsense, Ouma began speaking with that unwavering, excited gleam in his eyes. He looked like he was having fun, so much so that Momota shivered. “So let me get this straight. You want us to try and kill each other. Or wait until someone from the outside dies. Until then, no food or water---”

“You can drink from the bathroom sink, I suppose. But that’s it.” Monokuma clarified. “I _would_ cut off the water supply, but I thought I didn’t want you guys to get all smelly here. Besides, you’ll die way too easily!”

Ouma nodded enthusiastically. “Fair enough! So if I kill Momota-chan…” he trailed off, putting a finger on his cheek. Momota tensed. “Then you’ll let me off the hook? I can graduate? Is this like the first blood perk?”

Monokuma shrugged and brushed him off. “If you wanna graduate, then sure, be my guest. You can stay though; the choice will be completely up to you!”

“Awesome!”

“That brings us to my final gift!” Monokuma took something from behind him and raised it above his head as if it were something precious. It was a small device, no bigger than a remote control, with a huge red button smack dab in the center. “ _This_ is your ticket out of here! Once you already killed your roomie, give this a push! Then we’ll now it’s time for _you_ to get out and for _us_ to make a body discovery announcement! I call it the Murder Accomplished Button! Just make sure you actually _had_ accomplished a murder, I don’t like it when people waste my time! If you do waste my time, or try to open the door without my permission---” the bear glared pointedly at Ouma. “I will blow you both up! Just like my poor kub Monodam!”

“Ooooh! I’ll be taking that!” Ignoring Monokuma’s comment, Ouma ran towards the bear and snatched it from his paws, staring at the device as if it was some brand new toy. He held it against the light, examining it. “Why do you need a button, anyways?” he suddenly asked, though his voice sounded uninterested. “Won’t you know about it anyway? You’re the god or whatever of this world, right, Monokuma?”

The bear shrugged, though he looked pleased at his power being acknowledged. “The rest of the school grounds was made for the Killing Game, the Love Hotel was made to keep you bastards sane. You kids need to fend off your boredom and pesky teenage hormones! Besides, nobody is interested in watching underage porn!”

“Nobody! Not even me!” Monotarou yelled indignantly.

“We don’t need a lawsuit in our hands, after all.” Monophanie said nervously. “Daddy is very careful after the last time---”

“What’s in the Love Hotel, _stays_ in the Love Hotel. I don’t make the rules!” Monokuma snarled, raising his glinting claws.  

Ouma raised an eyebrow. Momota could almost see the gears turning in his head.

“Speaking of rules, I was just gonna inform you since those bastards took your monopads away; two days ago someone tried to drill a hole in the side of the building apparently---“

Momota’s eyes widened. “Someone?”

“We found the culprit this morning! A certain female assassin…”

Momota felt a grin split his face. “Harumaki! That’s my sidekick!”

“Well, we can’t be having that!” Monokuma yelled, his face turning red in anger. Though how that could be possible, Momota isn’t sure. Well, if Kiibo can blush, then… “Do you have _any_ clue how much of a hassle it is to rebuild the shit out of these buildings, when we just got it finished?! Unbelievable! We have better things to do, thank you very much! So there’s a new rule in town. No to breaking school property, I say! Bring the classic rules back, I’m way too old for this shit!”

_Classic rules? Way too old for…?_

So they can’t rely on Harumaki’s help either, huh? Momota felt dizzy. The situation was too surreal. This morning, he never thought the situation could get any worse. He held his head, trying to fight off an approaching headache. Why… does he have to endure all this? Why… did he even get involved in the Killing Game in the first place?

He didn’t know.

And for some reason, a small part of him wondered if it was better that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep... that just happened. 
> 
> I don't know what I'm doing, I'm sorry-- 
> 
> Actually, scratch that. I know exactly what I'm doing. And I lowkey hate myself for it. XD


	6. "Come here."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ouma and Momota reconciles... kind of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the promised Chapter 6! Yay!
> 
> Thank you for everyone who's still reading this. You give me life. ;u;

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

Ouma would give it three days.

Monokuma made it sound as if he gave them their “presents” for their own benefit, but Ouma knew that wasn’t quite the case. No--- Monokuma is betting on the possibility that they’ll take matters in their own hands. Without the option of them killing each other, the motive would work only if someone on the outside kills with the noble intention of self-sacrifice. Nobody would kill to save them from starvation, only to let them be executed in the class trial. If someone would kill for their sake, it is with the intention of forfeiting their own lives.

Is Saihara the type to kill somebody? Ouma would say he isn’t, but you never really know. Saihara’s last partner, Akamatsu, died right in front of him. Ouma would not put it past him to sacrifice his own life and morals for his partner’s sake, this time around. Harukawa, on the other hand, is a more likely killer, but Ouma could not be sure exactly how attached she is to the Ultimate Astronaut. Yonaga... probably would not give a shit, dooming them as sacrifices for her "peaceful school life”. Iruma, Yumeno, Chabashira and Shirogane would care more about their own lives. Shinguuji would find this situation interesting, nothing more. Kiibo, ironically, would be one of the more emphatic people in the group. He _might_ feel responsible and try to do something about it. On the other hand, Gokuhara…

Dumb, idiotic Gokuhara who wanted to be a gentleman and protect everyone. He’d… probably be the most upset of all right now, considering he had a direct hand in their situation as well. If not for his brawn, they probably would not have captured Momota.

Ouma would give it three days. Three days until all hell break loose outside.

Before then, he had to figure out something.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

_Wait a minute._ His eyes widened as he remembered something, something that hadn’t been on his mind the last few days. _Did they ever manage to revive the transfer student…?_ He knew Yonaga was enthusiastic about it before, but neither the member of the Student Council nor Saihara acted as if something is off, which either means they haven’t used the Necronomicon yet, or it failed. Either way, that’s irrelevant right now. _The dead can never come back to life._ He reminded himself. _What happened to the Necronomicon doesn’t matter._

But if the Necronomicon was just a ruse, why present it as a motive in the first place…?

It doesn’t make sense. It still stirred Ouma’s curiosity, but he decided to put it in the back of his head and think about it later. For now, there are more important things that required his attention. 

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

“Would you stop that?” Momota grunted from the other side of the room. It was only then that Ouma realized he’d been absentmindedly playing the knife game with his fingers against the floor. His mind had been racing, the adrenaline making him feel jittery, so much so that his hands felt like doing _something._

When Monokuma and the Monokubs left earlier, taking the fridge with them, he gave himself a moment to examine the contents of his “present”. The slim switchblade currently on his hand had been part of it. Out of dark amusement, he also skimmed through the booklet Monokuma had provided. He had no intention of taking advice from the bear, no, but he still wanted to see if there were more hints left lying about. Nothing strike him as particularly important, really, aside from a strange circular logo where the publisher information should be, bearing the shape of Monokuma’s red eye and emblazoned with the stylized letters “DR”.

 _DR._ Ouma had mused, remembering their latest conversation with Monokuma as he made a wild guess. _Dangan… Ronpa?_

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

“I said, stop that.” Momota growled. “Didn’t you hear me?”

Ouma turned his attention toward Momota and grinned with amusement, as he lifted the knife and played with it expertly between his fingers.

“Why, Momota-chan? Are you worried about little old me?” he teased.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

Momota groaned in defeat as he walked towards him, making Ouma raise a questioning eyebrow. The Ultimate Astronaut knelt down to where he’s sitting down on the floor and held the hand which was holding the knife, stopping the movement on its tracks.

“I said stop it.” Momota muttered, irritated. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

Ouma tilted his head. “So…?”

Momota gave him a ‘ _What the hell is wrong with you?’_ look. Ouma could only giggle.

“For someone who’s just been tasked to murder me, you sure are soft, Momota-chan.”

Contrary to his usual bravado, Momota didn’t reply. In fact, now that Ouma thought about it, he looked pretty overwhelmed. This up close, he could see the many different emotions flitting across his face, anger and fatigue and fear and worry. Even so, he left the contents of his “present” still spilled on the floor, not even picking it up. Ouma was impressed. Not everyone would cling onto their morals so tightly when their own life is in grave danger, but then again, perhaps to Momota it is a matter of pride.

“I’m not killing you.” Momota muttered with finality, his face settling on to grim determination. “I’m not letting Monokuma get what he wants.”

“Funny, because if I remember correctly we already gave Monokuma what he wanted. Twice, in fact.” Ouma’s face was still as stone, though his voice was tinged with slight bitterness. “So what if we give in on the third one?”

That shut him up, as a look of aggravation passed his face. He opened his mouth to speak, maybe to whip up another annoying speech, but before he could Ouma lifted his blade and placed it dangerously close to Momota’s neck, the sharp edge teasing his skin.

It took him by surprise. “Ouma, what---“

“Momota-chan… would you let me kill you?”

He tensed. Ouma felt tempted to laugh out loud at his reaction. _Ah, Momota-chan. Ever the hypocrite_. For all his talk of believing in him, his eyes still snapped to the knife in Ouma’s hands, wary and cautious, staring at him like he’s a wild animal who can attack any minute. In a way, he probably was.

“No.” he replied confidently. “I’m not planning to die here. I haven’t even gotten to space yet. I won’t die. Not now, not ever.”

 _As expected._ Ouma smiled at him, although it was mocking, filled with pity. He remembered Monokuma’s words, the current motive, and the amount of blood Momota had coughed out since the beginning of their imprisonment. In a cruel bout of irony, fate seemed determined to make it so that Momota would not survive this ordeal. It was… unfair.  

“Too bad.” Ouma replied. “You don’t get to have that choice.”

Momota’s eyes narrowed, his chin rising up a little in defiance, his gaze locked on the blade. “You _wouldn’t._ ”

He’s right, of course. Regardless, Ouma giggled. “Nishishi. Momota-chan knows me sooo well! But that’s a lie you like telling yourself. Don’t you, Momota-chan?” he said his name in such a sickly sweet tone.

Momota hesitated. “I…”

“Come on, why are you so nervous? I thought you said you believed in me, or something like that.” Ouma continued with a frown, willing the crocodile tears to edge in his eyes. “Are you just lying, Momota-chan? That really hurts my feelings.”

Momota growled. “Stop it with the waterworks. I’d be nervous around anyone with a knife at my throat.”

“Even Saihara-chan?”

He frowned. “Shuuichi would never hurt anyone. He won’t even point a knife at me in the first place.”

“Well, hypothetically.”

Momota seemed to consider it. Finally, he replied. “No. Not really. But you… you’re different. You scare the shit out of me. Especially since I don’t understand what you’re thinking.”

“Wow! That’s surprisingly honest, I’m impressed!” Ouma laughed, delighted. “You’re right. I won’t have a problem hurting anyone. Morality is flexible, frighteningly so.”

“But you’re not really the type that would kill someone, are you?” Momota asked. “I know you’re not.”

That wiped the smile off Ouma’s face. “How can you be so sure?”

 _Even I’m not so sure sometimes,_ he wanted to add.

Momota grinned, despite the blade on his throat. “I just am!” 

At this point, the Supreme Leader isn’t even surprised anymore. He simply rolled his eyes. “Disgusting.”

“Hey!”

Ouma flipped the switchblade close, placing it on the floor as he stood up. Even with him standing up and Momota kneeling on the floor, their gazes were still almost level with each other. Even so, it was a surreal feeling, finally staring down at him instead of the other way around.

“Haven’t I told you enough times already? It’s like everything I say goes in one ear and out the other. No wonder you’re so stupid. Look: you don’t know me, Momota-chan. You just like to pretend you do.” He paused as he put his hands behind his back. “Just like how you pretend to know Saihara-chan and Harukawa-chan. Just like how they pretend to know _you_. But in the end, nobody really knows anyone. We’re all just strangers to each other.”

Momota frowned as he scratched the back of his head. “Jeez. Why are you so cynical? You really are naïve.”

Ouma blinked. He was not expecting that. “Naïve?”

Momota shrugged in response. “Yeah! You see, the world doesn’t have to be _that_ complicated. Of course you can never know a person through and through. They will always have that small bit they will always keep from you. But is that really that big of a deal? I don’t think so.” He grinned as he stood up. A confident, blinding grin that left Ouma reeling. “Sometimes, people really are unable to fully understand each other, but that doesn’t matter! What matters, is that they _connect---_ ” He walked closer, and Ouma took a step back. Even so, Momota continued forward, placing his hand on Ouma’s head, ruffling his hair. “--- like this!”

Ouma opened his mouth to make some witty comeback, but he found none to be said. Instead, he snapped Momota’s hand away, frowning. “Don’t touch me.”

Momota seemed to expect it, however, and simply raised his arms in mock defeat. Ouma glared at him defiantly. “Why are you being so difficult?” he couldn’t help but ask, his annoyance pushing the truth out for once. “Things would be so much easier if you just---” he bit his tongue.

“--- Hated you?”

Ouma looked away.

“Why are you so determined to make me hate you?”

 _Why… why indeed?_ Is it because it’s easier? Safer? _I don’t know._ Ouma put his hands in his hair, unease rippling through his being.

Momota was staring at him intently, waiting for a response.

Ouma closed his eyes shut. _Please stop staring at me._ He doesn’t like being seen or read. He liked having his own thoughts to himself, keeping aces up his sleeves. But over the past few days while Momota had been observing him (he was not very subtle), Ouma only felt himself growing more and more unnerved by his gaze. No matter how much he wanted to suppress the feeling, the way the astronaut is staring at him makes him feel so… exposed.

This situation is already out of his control as it is. The thing he needed the least was someone picking him apart like he’s some elaborate puzzle. It’s disgusting, revolting, annoying…

… and wonderful.

Ouma laughed brokenly at the realization. It was morbidly hilarious, and slightly disappointing. All this time he’s been trying so hard to build himself up to be the monster that he hated, and yet… it was such a human thing to want to be understood.

He _wanted_ to be understood. But in this kind of game, could you really afford to trust anyone?

Momota’s eyes widened, seemingly caught off guard by his sudden laughter. “Hey. Hey, you okay? Calm down.” he said in panic. Ouma didn’t realize he was shaking, breathing heavily. Momota’s arms were around him, making him feel… grounded. Safe. Which was utterly, damningly, stupid. He halted abruptly and pushed him away.

“ _Fuck you._ ” He said with as much poison as he could muster.

Momota frowned impatiently, looking like he’s fed up. “See? _That’s_ why we don’t get along. We take one step forward, and two steps back. As I said, can’t we act like civilized people here and talk properly for once? Especially now---”

Ouma had no reply to that, so he did what he thought was the most sensible thing he could do at the moment, which was not sensible at all. He put his hands up to cover his ears, acting like a child. “Blah blah blah, I can’t hear you!”

Momota let out a string of profanities that would make Iruma proud. “You little shit---“

Ouma tried to run away, but when you’re locked in a hotel room with one of your sworn “enemies”, there really isn’t much room to navigate. Momota immediately caught him by the wrist, and even as he struggled, his small frame proved no challenge to Momota’s brute strength.

“We _will_ talk, and you _will_ listen to me! Or so help me god, I’ll---“

“Noooo!”

“--- cuff you to the bed or---“

“Let gooo!”

“--- something just to make sure you’ll---“

“Noooooo!”

“--- fucking listen to me--- OW!”

Ouma bit his hand, hard. Momota cursed, letting go, and as soon as he did, Ouma ran to the bathroom door. “Meanie!” he yelled, as he stuck his tongue out childishly to him, intending to shut the door to his face, but before he could, Momota started coughing hard. It seemed like the physical strain caught up to him as he doubled over, a hand covering his mouth as crimson leaked through his fingers

Ouma’s blood ran cold. He was coughing up more blood than usual, too. Is his illness worsening? Was it his fault? “I…” he bit his lip, stubbornly. “I’m not going to apologize.”

Momota got out the last of his coughs out and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, red staining the side of his lips. “Good, because that would be fucking creepy.” he muttered with a smile, albeit weakly.

Ouma licked his lips, unsure about what to do. He was smart, but he didn’t have any medical expertise. He wasn’t even sure how he could help. “Momota-chan---“

“ _I’m fine._ ” Momota cut him off as he stood back up shakily, heading back to bed. “I just… need some rest.”

Ouma nodded slowly. Momota lied back down to the bed, but he left his arms open, almost invitingly. Ouma blinked in surprise when he realized the astronaut was looking straight at him with a serious look on his face.

“Come here.”

Ouma frowned, giving him a look of suspicion. “Uhh… no?”

Momota rolled his eyes, and simply patted the spot next to him. “Stop being paranoid, you little freak, and just come here. Lie down. People won’t suddenly start murdering each other outside, so you should take a nap or whatever before you burn yourself out. Or else I’ll bonk you on the head so hard you’ll wish you were dead.”

“Ooooh, is that a threat?” Ouma asked with a small smile, but he was already inching closer.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Hesitantly, Ouma sat on the edge of the bed, but as soon as he did Momota held his arm and pulled him down. He felt heat creep up his neck as he found himself suddenly pushed against Momota’s chest, arms around him, tightly. Trying to ignore the sudden racing of his heart, he laughed.

“Momota-chan, I didn’t realize you liked me that much--- oomph!” Momota pressed him further into his chest, face rubbing against the fabric of his shirt.

“Shut up. You’re tired. Have you _seen_ yourself? You look like shit.”

“I’m not tired! In fact, I feel very energized!” Well, that was technically not a lie, with his heartbeat racing and all, but in truth, his head already hurt from all the thinking. A nap was starting to sound like a really good idea.

Momota started running his fingers through his hair, caressing it on his fingertips. He felt his eyes getting heavy. It felt good. Really… good.

“I’ve been thinking.” Momota muttered.

“What a surprise.”

He growled in contempt, and Ouma could feel the vibrations on his chest, as well as his steady heartbeat. Regardless, he continued. “Anyway, as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted---“

“Nishishi.”

“--- that plan you made with Shuuichi probably isn’t gonna work now, so we need to figure out how we’re gonna get out of here. _Without killing anyone_.” He emphasized, which made Ouma smile sadly. “I know you got plenty of ideas, so you better choke it up.”

Ouma played innocent. “Me? Ideas? I don’t know what you’re talking about, Momota-chan.”

“Don’t screw with me. You’ve been muttering stuff under your breath for the past few hours now since Monokuma showed up.”

“I could easily be singing kumbaya under my breath---“

“ _Ouma._ ”

Momota closed his fist around a bunch of his hair, which made Ouma yelp.

“O-Ow! That’s so mean!” he complained.

There was a grin on his voice. “That’s for biting my hand.”

Ouma mumbled under his breath, but as Momota resumed his caressing, he soon relaxed. He felt his eyes getting heavy.

“Your hands stink.” He muttered sleepily.

Momota replied, but he didn’t hear it anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I personally, really like how this chapter ended. Kind of. It's one of my less cliffhanger-y endings. 
> 
> Watch out for Chapter 7. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. 
> 
> I hate myself.


	7. "Don’t cry, Momota-chan."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ouma... writes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm feeling generous, and this got away with just a few editing thanks to SnowyDawn17. I thought I should post it while I have the chance. 
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Momota woke up to see Ouma sitting cross legged down on the floor, writing frantically on a copy of _101 Easy Ways To Murder Your Roommate_ with his right hand and eating a piece of bread with his left.  

 _Huh…?_ Momota blinked the sleep out of his eyes for a moment, trying to place what was wrong with this picture.

Ouma was eating bread. A piece of _bread._

_Huh?!_

“What the---?“ he said as he jerked, sitting up and catching the Supreme Leader's attention. Ouma’s eyes widened a little before swallowing, giving him a bright smile.

“Good morning, Momota-chan! Or is it afternoon? Evening? With the meal deliveries gone, it’s really hard to tell.”

Momota pressed the bridge of his nose, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. “Monokuma… the motive… how---“

Ouma smiled dryly. “Well, about that… check under the bed.”

With a confused look, Momota slid to the edge of the bed and did as he was told. He was not sure what to expect, but what’s underneath the bed certainly is… unexpected.

Food.

It wasn’t much: just a bag of chips, a recently opened pack of cookies, two apples, three slices of bread, and about two and a half bottles of Panta.

“You were _hoarding_ food?” he asked, surprised. He remembered all these stuff from the meals the Student Council gave them, but with his meager appetite he only assumed that Ouma had already eaten them all. Apparently not.

The realization hit him hard. Suddenly it made sense why Ouma was so eager to get out since day one. He gave the Supreme Leader an accusing look. “ _You_. You knew this would happen, didn’t you?”

Ouma shrugged. “I didn’t know it _would_ happen. But I knew it _might._ There’s a difference. Better safe than sorry.” He replied. “It paid off, didn’t it?”

Now Momota didn’t know whether to be grateful or angry. “You knew it _might_ happen, but you didn’t even tell me?”

“What use will it be? It’s not like we could have figured out a way to escape sooner, even with your help.” Ouma replied dismissively, as he finished whatever he was writing and snapped the book closed with unnecessary flourish.

Momota frowned. The brat… probably had a point. Even so, it felt utterly frustrating to realize he’s been out of the loop. Sure, he probably isn't the best at critical thinking, but he's not _stupid_ _._ He wanted to know what’s happening and help out too, however he could.

“If we ration this much food carefully, it could last us a couple of days.” Ouma stated thoughtfully.

“A couple of days?” Momota asked. He couldn’t imagine their supply lasting two, but the way Ouma talked made it seem like he was awfully sure of himself. The Supreme Leader was already nodding, tapping his pen against his cheek, lost in thought. He left it uncapped though, leaving small dots of ink against his skin. Momota resisted the urge to reach over and clean it off.

“Yup, the slices of bread come first, I guess. We got it yesterday, but soon enough it’ll go stale. As long as it doesn’t get moldy, it should be okay. We’re eating this for dinner. We could drink water to get ourselves full. Lots and lots of water. The headaches will be inevitable, but I guess that’s a starvation motive for you…”

Ouma continued on, talking about rationing and hunger pangs and how they would be able to avoid ulcer. As he talked, something dawned on Momota, a realization that he was surprised he didn’t get sooner, as he gazed at Ouma’s tattered, thin clothes and small frame. It was easy to miss --- especially since the Supreme Leader had such a grand personality.

Ouma is knowledgeable about this whole… rationing thing. _Too_ knowledgeable. Almost as if… he was speaking from experience _._

The thought unsettled him. He didn’t want to pry about Ouma’s life before coming here, especially when the guy was so adamant about closing himself off. It was already such a rarity that the he seemed to be in a pretty agreeable mood, too distracted by his planning to try and antagonize him again. But he can’t remove the idea from his mind, so instead he distracted himself and decided to ask something random. Something, _anything_ \---

“Where did you get the pen?” he asked out of the blue. Now that he thought about it, he doesn’t remember a pen being anywhere around the love hotel in their first four days here.

“This?” Ouma held up the pen for him to see. “It’s part of my present.”

That only got him confused. “A pen as a murder weapon?”

Ouma laughed. “Murder method # 76 in the book. You _do_ know that some parts of the brain are directly behind the eye, right?” He held the pen like a knife and made a stabbing motion. “ _Squish squish._ It would be messy, and probably include a lot of pain and screaming. But it’s ten out of ten as far as murder methods go, if you’re into that kind of stuff. _”_

Momota suddenly had the image of himself flailing with a pen poking through his eye. The image made him shudder.

“O… kay?” he said. “What were you writing, then?”

Ouma’s smile faltered for a split second, but he quickly recovered. He made a finger gun and aimed it at him, and to Momota’s exasperation, winked. “The way into your heart, of course!”

Momota simply gave him an unimpressed look. Ouma could try, but he couldn’t fool him, not anymore. “You’re hiding something.”

“Nishishi. I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

He sighed, already tired of this shit. “Don’t lie, just tell me.”

“I’m not lying! Or am I lying that I’m not lying? Or am I lying that I’m not lying that I’m not---“

Momota took a pillow and threw it towards his face, but Ouma was swift and ducked out of the way. He was laughing, grinning from ear to ear, in an almost genuine look of mirth that Momota had not seen in days… or maybe ever. He frowned.

“What’s up with you?” he asked.

“Hm?” he perked up. “What’s up with what?”

“You’re… in a _really_ good mood. It’s creepy.”

Ouma placed his hands behind him, rocking back and forth on his toes. “It’s because I found out something very interesting! Hey, want me to tell you? Hey, hey, hey _hey_!”

Momota mouth twitched, stifling a smile. It was so refreshing to see Ouma this way, especially after that mild breakdown he had earlier today. The way he laughed back then was so _broken,_ so unlike him that it still sent chills down his spine. This Ouma is… better. More relaxed. More in control.

“Okay, okay.” He replied, scratching the back of his head. “I’ll bite. Tell me.”

Ouma lifted his hands dramatically in a way that would have rivaled their resident mage. “Why tell you, when I can show you!”

Ouma started looking around the room. Momota raised an eyebrow. What is he up to? The Supreme Leader then ran and picked up Momota’s hammer from the pile he left in the corner, testing its weight. When he seemed satisfied, he walked to the center of the room and to the astronaut’s surprise, swung the hammer hard against the strange horse contraption, the wood cracking with a loud crunch---

“Ouma, what the fuck?!” Momota yelled, glancing at the door, almost expecting Monokuma to come back with exisals blazing behind him. “Isn’t breaking stuff against the rules—“

“Shh.” Ouma held up a finger, effectively shutting him up. “The horse always kinda annoyed me.”

“ _What?”_

It was then that he realized that Ouma was waiting with bated breath. They stayed still for one minute, and then two… and then five.

The door stayed shut.

Ouma grinned as he made an exaggerated bow. “Behold!”

Momota’s mouth hung open. His eyes flitted from the broken horse to the door and back again… and then to Ouma, who was looking very pleased with himself. “Why isn’t Monokuma…” Momota trailed off. And then he remembered the bear’s words; vague as usual, but now that he thought about it, it’s quite telling. “ _Nobody wants to watch underage porn! What happens in the love hotel,_ stays _in the love hotel!”_

“Monokuma… can’t monitor us in here?” he placed a hand on his head. He was so used to the prospect that the bear would know _everything_ , and yet here Ouma was, blatantly breaking a rule and getting away with it. “Wow. That’s... pretty cool actually, but…” he hesitated. The idea that they were away from the wretched bear’s watchful eye was great and all, but he really couldn’t see how it would help them right now. He was unsure how to break this concern to Ouma though, as the Supreme Leader seem evidently thrilled. He cleared his throat. “I mean… uhh… so what?” Immediately, he winced at his poor choice of words. _Smooth, Kaito._ He chastised himself. _Way to fucking go._

His dampened spirits dragged Ouma down from his high, and the Supreme Leader's expression fell. He shuffled nervously, looking down with a dejected expression. “Well… it wouldn’t help with the situation right now, not really. At least not the way you’d think. But since Monokuma doesn’t know what’s happening in here, I thought maybe…” he trailed off.

Momota waited. The pause went on for so long that he wondered if Ouma was still planning to continue at all. Finally, Ouma took a deep breath… and whispered “I want to try.”

Momota blinked, not quite understanding. “Huh?”

Ouma started to bite his thumbnail. It was a nervous habit, Momota knew. He was tapping his foot, his eyes showing that faraway gaze that he had whenever he’s thinking hard on something--- then, abruptly, he looked away. “A- Actually, never mind.”

“No. No, wait.” Momota panicked, he could almost see Ouma quickly building up his walls again. He was _finally_ trying, finally giving in. That’s it, right? But someone as stubborn and secretive as Ouma couldn’t possibly feel comfortable with opening up, and he could tell by the way the boy’s eyes were nervously flitting around the room looking at anywhere but Momota.

He worked so hard for this moment. Ouma is _finally_ talking. Momota isn’t about to fuck this up.

“Continue what you were going to say.” Momota said, sitting more properly as he gave him what he hoped was an encouraging look. “I’ll listen. Or try to. I mean….” God, he’s awkward. He took a deep breath. He’s no Saihara, but he tried to summon all the patience and calmness he could, as he scratched the back of his head. “Continue.”

Ouma hesitated. The hesitation seemed genuine. Then he grinned, widely, cheerfully, as if he had no worry in the world. As if he was supremely confident of what he was about to say. Momota had a feeling though, that this display of confidence and nonchalance was in itself another lie.

If it would help Ouma get out whatever it was that’s on his mind, Momota would not complain.

“Momota-chan, you said you believe in me, right? That you trust me. I still think it’s stupid. I still think _you’re_ stupid.” Ouma said pointedly, as if it was something very obvious that he just had to get out of the way. “But, I was thinking… overall, you’re not entirely useless.”

 _Progress. This is progress._ Momota could sing. He was just insulted, but he couldn’t keep himself from grinning.

Which Ouma instantly notices. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” he almost teased.

Ouma stomped his foot on the floor impatiently. “I’m just saying--- I had a bit of a realization when I woke up. An epiphany, you could say.”

“An epiphany?”

Ouma looked amused. “If you even know what that word means.”

“What the--- _of course_ I know what it means!” he said incredulously.

Ouma giggled. His tone was patronizing. “Nishishi. Suuuure, you do.”

Even when he’s trying to express his feelings, the brat is still aggravating. Momota resisted the urge to strangle him. “Just--- say what you’re going to say, Ouma.” he seethed.

And with that, Ouma is silent again. Momota could never get used to his sudden mood changes. “If…” he started, as he licked his lips. “If I want things to work the way I want right now, I have no choice but to…” he trailed off, shrugging. “… _trust_.”

Trust _._

It was just a simple word, but Ouma spoke it with so much weight that it thickened the tension in the room. The Supreme Leader has always acted as if trust was a ticking time-bomb, something that’s going to inevitably blow up on their faces. But this time he was willing to hold it, willing to hope for the slim chance that it won’t. The sheer courage of doing that was simply…

“…Amazing.” Momota muttered, not quite sure if he’s awake. Maybe he’s still dreaming.

Ouma flushed, but he put his hands on his hips and attempted a grin. “Of course I’m amazing! With this, you are now my underling! Isn’t that great?”

This snapped Momota out of his daze. “Your underling? I’m nobody’s underling! No way! _You_ will be _my_ sidekick!”

Ouma made a face. “Gross. No, _I’ll_ be your Supreme Leader!” he insisted.

They had a staring contest, both parties glaring with narrowed eyes. _Childish._ Momota thought to himself. _This is so childish._ And yet, it seemed to break the ice between them. Ouma is opening up. It seemed too good to be true. Momota was still waiting for the catch, but so far he could see none.

It made him wonder what exactly changed his mind. Is it finding out Monokuma’s lack of power in their location? Their earlier argument? His earlier breakdown? Or something else?

“Let’s be partners, then.” Momota found himself relenting. He realized he was grinning. Momota Kaito and Ouma Kokichi --- what a troublesome pair. Anyone on the outside would say it is simply impossible. But they didn’t know.

“Partners…” Ouma whispered, as if he couldn’t quite process the word. Momota wondered if this is the first time he had ever tried to accept help from others. He’s been carrying heavy burdens on such small shoulders for so long, maybe he had forgotten how it was when someone shared the load.

“It’ll be okay, Kokichi!” he tried to reassure him, taking a little bit of pleasure in using the Supreme Leader’s name for the first time. “You shouldn’t carry your burdens on your own. Since we’re partners now, if you need me, I’ll be here for you.”

A flash of irritation passed Ouma’s face. For a moment, he looked like he was going to say something, but he stopped himself, and bit his lip.

For the rest of the day, Momota forgot to ask about whatever it was Ouma was writing on his book. Ouma didn’t remind him.

 

 

* * *

 

“So! Any ideas on how we can get out of here?” Momota asked the next day, chewing on a slice of bread, his breakfast. It was not nearly enough. His stomach still growled in protest, but he followed Ouma’s advice and drank a lot of water with it. It left an uneasy feeling in his gut, but otherwise he felt good. Or as good as you could be when you’re trapped in a hotel room by a homicidal bear, left to starve to death.

Ouma had already finished his breakfast. Momota studied him, especially the bags under his eyes. He still looked tired. As usual, Momota woke up to him “tossing and turning” this morning. He absentmindedly wished he could take the nightmares away. Maybe someday, Ouma would be comfortable enough to tell him about it. But until then, he decided not to pry.

Nothing much really has changed since they became “partners”. Ouma was still wary and kept most of his thoughts to himself, but Momota supposed you can’t really force things to change just like that. At the very least, the Supreme Leader doesn’t push him away anymore, nor does he try to antagonize him. He still teases and annoys the shit out of him every once in a while, but if Momota will be honest, he kind of… liked that.

He’d never admit it. _Ever._

Ouma was playing with his hair as he once again sat in his usual spot on the floor, glaring at the door as if he could open it with sheer willpower alone. He did not seem to hear him the first time, but when Momota repeated the question he sighed and flopped down to the ground, staring at the ceiling.

“I have a plan… I think.” He muttered.

“Great! Let’s hear it!” Momota said as he sat down beside him. Ouma’s gaze shifted from the ceiling to his face, his face blank. He stayed like that for a few seconds, before he suddenly put out his tongue.

“Bleh. Not telling you.”

Momota’s eye twitched. The brat still knows exactly where and how to push his buttons. He rolled his eyes. “Kokichi, you said you’d trust me.”

“Well, I _am_ a liar. Sucks to be you.”

Momota groaned.

Ouma giggled as he shifted his eyes back to the ceiling, grinning. “Well, we can try to fake a death. Let me cut off one of your hands, I’ll tell Monokuma I chopped off the rest of you and flushed you down the toilet---“

His eyes widened as he clutched his hand. “What?!”

“--- but then you’re not fun-sized like me, nor a hide-and-seek expert like me, so hiding you will be a bit of a challenge. Maybe I should chop you up and put you in one of those drawers, but,” he gasped dramatically. “Silly me, that would kill you too, wouldn’t it? Sorry.”

Momota sighed heavily. He didn’t even know what’s up with him anymore. “Stop messing around.”

“Or maybe, maybe!” Ouma continued as he rolled over, now on his stomach, palms cupping his chin as his feet swung in the air, like a little child. “Maybe we should try it the other way around! What If I’m the one dead, and you’re the one alive? Are you any good in acting, Momota-chan? Let’s try it!” Suddenly he held his left arm out and whipped up his switchblade with his right, flicking it open and aiming---

Momota’s heart stopped.

“What the fuck, what, stop! Stop!” Momota yelled in panic as he gripped Ouma’s hand, almost cutting himself with the knife. Ouma yelped as the switchblade fell from his grip and the next thing he knew he was on his back again, right arm pinned to the floor, Momota looking down on him with a livid expression on his face.

Ouma blinked. His face was almost amused. “Momota-chan… you _do_ know I was just kidding, right?”

Kidding? That was him just _kidding_? Momota huffed in exasperation. “You take your jokes way too far, Kokichi.”

“But that’s what makes it fun!”

Momota searched through his expression, trying to read him. Ouma’s eyes widened a fraction, before looking away and placing his left arm against his face, hiding from view. Momota narrowed his eyes. “Okay, something’s wrong.” he decided. “You’re going to tell me what’s wrong, or I’m not letting you go.” Momota threatened, taking both of his wrists and tightening his grip on it.

Ouma winced, and chuckled nervously. “Well, this position isn’t really that bad, you know. Kinda intimate. Are you trying to make me fall for you, Momota-chan?”

He felt heat creep up his neck. “Don’t change the subject!”

Ouma laughed, but his laughter eventually morphed into something that sounded like a tired sigh. Momota thought he might have started biting his thumbnail by now if he could.

“I keep thinking. I keep thinking and thinking and thinking. I… don’t know how to get out, Momota-chan.” Ouma confessed. “Every plan I concoct is either too stupid or too risky or just plain impossible. It’s… frustrating. I feel so useless.”

Momota gulped hard. Now here comes the hard part. Momota was never really that good at comforting people He had a (debatably bad) habit of simply hammering his own ideals into his friends, and for some reason that just kind of works out. But Ouma is different. He’s stubborn, volatile… and has a huge array of his own philosophies that he’d love to hammer into others in return. In some ways they are alike, and yet very different.

What was he supposed to say in this situation? Ouma was right here, trusting him enough to share his insecurity, and Momota felt so stupid as he tried to fumble for the right words.

“There’s still time.” He said, hesitantly. “We can figure something out. I’m sure---“

Ouma suddenly shut his eyes. “No, I’m lying.”

Momota was caught off guard. “W-What?”

“There _is_ one plan… One plan that I’m pretty sure would work.”

For some reason, Momota had a bad feeling about this. Ouma smiled cheerfully. But something felt… off.

“I’m going to get you out of here, Momota-chan. You’re just going to have to trust me.”

A chill ran down his spine. “And… what about you?”

Ouma’s smile faltered. He raised an eyebrow, acting as if he was confused. But that all it was--- an act.  “About me? What do you mean, Momota-chan?”

“You. You’re… going out too, right?”

“Naturally.”

Of course. That’s to be expected. Right? He should be relieved. He _should_ be… but he wasn’t.

 _Well, I_ am _a liar._ Ouma had said. _Sucks to be you._

_No way…_

Ouma struggled against his grip, giving Momota an impatient look. “Will you _please_ let go of me now? I already told you what’s bothering me, didn’t I? Geez, why do you always have to be so…” he made a shaking gesture with his hands. “… forceful?”

Instead of replying, Momota tightened his grip. “You’re lying.”

Ouma’s eyes widened. He seemed like he wanted to look away, but he steeled his gaze. “Lying? No, I’m not.”

Yes, he is. Momota wasn’t sure how he knew. It was just a feeling in his gut.

“You’re not…” he cleared his throat. It was dry and rough like sandpaper, despite the shit ton of water he had chugged down this morning. “You’re not… planning to do something stupid, are you?”

To this Ouma laughed. Laughed as if he’s heard the most hilariously insulting thing in the world. “Momota-chan, are you _seriously_ entertaining the notion that I’d give up my life for you? How self-important you are---“

“Who said anything about giving up your life?”

Ouma’s eyes widened. Now he seemed more like a cornered animal. His struggling became more desperate. “I-I… I didn’t---“

_Oh god… I was right._

Momota grit his teeth, anger rising sharply from the pit of his stomach. “You know what? Fuck you. Fuck. _You_.” He seethed.

Ouma winced, but he shook his head vigorously, his mask finally breaking. There is no point in it anymore, after all. His eyes, however, couldn’t meet his. His words flowed, frantic. “Why try to figure something out when the answer is already right in front us? If one of us dies---“

“I told you, we’re having _none_ of that crap!”  

“Would you rather one of the people outside dies in our place?” Ouma asked, his voice breaking. “Because I’m having none of that crap _either_!” It was not the first time that Momota has seen him almost close to tears, but this is the first time that there was so much raw anguish in them.

It was almost unbearable to see him like this. Momota couldn’t imagine what would push the Supreme Leader to actually consider throwing his own life away. The Ouma he knew wouldn’t do that. The Ouma he knew was _very_ determined to live. He’d said as much. And yet… why?

Momota shut his eyes. The idea of someone dying in their place was unthinkable, and yet, isn’t that what has always transpired after class trials? Is it so selfish to want to live? Is it so selfish to want to survive and escape outside? Not just outside this room, but outside this damn Killing Game?

“Will you kill me, Momota-chan?”

Momota opened his eyes and gave him an incredulous look. “No!”  

“Please." Ouma said, his eyes burning with an emotion that Momota couldn’t place. His voice was almost a whisper. “You have to. I… have a lot of things I need to tell you. Things you can use to figure your way out the killing game. Saihara-chan would trust you, too. You can use the Bugvac I’ve been making with Iruma-chan, set the Love Hotel as a base for meetings--- but you have to promise me. Promise me you’ll kill me, because I can’t _stand_ the fact that someone else is going to die again when I _could have prevented it---_ “

Ouma gasped. He was hyperventilating now, breaking to pieces. “I don’t want another Amami-chan or Akamatsu-chan.” He said, his eyes glazing over. “This time, I won’t chicken out.”

Suddenly, it clicks.

Momota swallowed. “You… tried to kill yourself before? With the time limit?”

Ouma laughed mirthlessly. It was almost hysterical, out of control. “No. But I was hoping someone would come to my room and do the honors.”

Momota couldn’t believe it. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized he’d been so stupid.

_“Maybe I’ll go back to my room and think things over.” Ouma had said as he placed a finger on his lips. “Alone.”_

That was the taunt he had left them that day. At the time, it just seemed as though he was being a sly and cunning son of a bitch, but now…

Momota felt hollow. He didn’t know what to think. He was angry and horrified and… something else. His hands tightened on his wrist once again so much that Ouma hissed in pain, and he leaned down and pressed his forehead to his. “Fuck you. _Fuck you._ You are _not_ giving up on me. I won’t _fucking_ let you.”

Ouma was silent for a long time.

And then… a giggle.

Momota raised his head up to look at him.

He was smiling, looking like he was close to bursting into laughter. He was biting his lip but giggles kept escaping. “Oh my god. I’m… I’m sorry. _Shit._  I took it way too far again.”

Momota frowned, confused. He realized his grip on Ouma was weakening, as the strength seem to have left him.

_Huh?_

Ouma made an apologetic (apologetic? That’s weird. Ouma is _never_ apologetic) smile as he put his hand on Momota’s cheek, wiping away a tear that he didn’t realize was there. “Don’t cry, Momota-chan. It was just a lie. A joke. A really bad one, apparently.”

_That was… a lie?_

Momota was silent. Ouma laughed.

“Momota-chan is sooo gullible! How can you be my partner when you don’t even know how to distinguish my lies from the truth?”

Momota clenched his fist. The next thing he knew it hit hard against Ouma’s cheek, where a purple bruise was now forming. He was shaking. Shaking from anger and relief. He held his head as he tried to compose himself, while Ouma simply lay there unmoving.

“I deserved that.” He muttered.

“Yes,” Momota spat as he stood up, resisting the urge to punch him again. “You did.”

And with that, he walked away, rummaged into his duffel bag for his clothes, and banged the bathroom door shut so hard the tremor was felt through the walls.

 

* * *

 

 

He fucked up.

Ouma had always prided himself with his ability to stay calm and rational under pressure, but this time he had completely, royally _fucked up._  

Momota had just that affect on him. He wasn’t sure why, is simply being in his presence enough to disintegrate a couple thousand brain cells in his head? Maybe. Momota had that certain charm, that charisma, that makes Ouma feel a little more emotional, a little less in control. And he hated it.

He hated being out of control.

 _“That’s our Momota-kun, right?”_ Saihara had put it, in the second trial that felt so long ago. “ _Making us think with our hearts…”_

Well, screw that.

His cheek throbbed. It would probably develop into a nasty bruise later on, especially since they had no ice to treat the swelling. It hurt, but Ouma decided that was okay. _It will be a reminder._ he told himself. _Never again._

If Momota wouldn’t do it, that leaves Ouma no other choice.

There was one thing that Monokuma and Ouma both agree on, as much as he hated to think about it: suicide is still murder. Killing the most important existence of all… can he do that? Does he have the _stomach_ to do that? _It doesn’t matter. It’s the only way._ For all his time spent trying to stay alive in this god forsaken place, it was ironic that things would have to end this way. Even so, he was willing. He didn’t want to die, but if there is no other choice… if _someone_ had to die, then---

_DICE wouldn’t approve of this._

The thought sent a pang of guilt into his heart. But that’s alright. After all, it’s not like he would still be around to care. If anything, he simply wanted to find solace in the thought that in the end, all his hard work would not amount to nothing. He needed Momota’s cooperation. He needed someone who’ll be willing to continue his investigations after he’s gone. Momota would probably despise him after this, but that doesn’t matter. He’ll be honorable enough to follow the last will of his “partner”. That’s just the kind of person he is.

Now wasn’t the time to make him mad. Ouma hoped he didn’t shut down that road entirely.

“I’m so stupid.” Ouma muttered to himself as he sat up, glancing over at the door to the bathroom. He wanted to hit himself, but he supposed Momota already did the honors. “I’m so fucking stupid.”

He made a huge sigh as he stood up, hesitantly walking towards the bathroom door. With a purpose, he leaned his ear on it. He could hear nothing but the sound of water and irritated mumbling. Momota didn’t sound like he’d be finished soon. Carefully, his eyes still locked on the door, Ouma went to the corner of the room where the rest of Momota’s present was left untouched, taking the small bottle he had been eyeing since this morning.

He risked a quick glance to read the label. Strike-9 poison. Slow acting. Painful. He bit his lip. _How sadistic._ He would have preferred a quicker one, but this will do.

Running over to his duffel bag, he stuffed the bottle of poison among his clothes, trying to hide it as effectively as possible. He then lifted one of his pants and took out the booklet from its pocket. It was already wrinkled and all but he did his best to smooth it out, opening it and trying to find new blank spaces to write on--- in the vacat pages, the back of the covers, the edges and margins.

He took his pen and uncapped it. And then… he continued to write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woop, woop. Chapter Seven, baby! XD 
> 
> Ouma and Momota just can't get along for longer than five minutes, can they? 
> 
> Thank you for all the comments from last chapter. Interestingly, some of my friends seem to think this would mean that the fic would get more relaxed since they'd have a lot of time in there... well, no dice (ha!). Ouma is never chill. Haha. 
> 
> Welcome to the angst. I am Rev, your driver, and I don't know what I'm doing.


	8. "Monokuma is always mocking me."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Momota learns new stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My birthday was yesterday, so I thought I should post as a treat to myself...? I dunno. XD 
> 
> Thanks for everyone who have read thus far! Your comments and kudos make my day. <3
> 
> Special thanks to SnowyDawn17 for beta reading. I almost feel bad for making her cry all the time. Lol

Momota had hoped the shower would cool down his head. It didn’t.

He was just--- so pissed off! He wanted to punch the wall, if only it won’t break his fingers. He was made into a fool, worrying over some bullshit-spewing brat and--- _ARRRGHHH!_ Who the _fuck_ jokes about that kind of stuff, anyway?! Especially with the way things are right now?! He couldn’t believe that he actually fell for that _bastard’s_ lies ---

_“Don’t cry, Momota-chan.”_

He clenched his fists and took a shaky breath. His eyes were blurry, but it must have been the water from the shower getting into his eyes. Right. The shower…

He ran his hand through his hair and looked up at the shower head, letting the water cleanse his thoughts away. But every time he closed his eyes, he could remember the look on Ouma’s face, so full of anguish and grim determination.

 _Was that… really just a lie?_ He shook his head. He refused to think about it. The thought of Ouma wanting to die for everyone’s sake… it was so different from his usual character that Momota’s brain couldn’t quite process it. _It has to be a lie… right? It has to be._

He kept convincing himself for the rest of his shower, but for some reason, a small part of him still refused to let it go.

He resolved himself to keep a closer eye on Ouma…. just in case.

 

* * *

 

 

“Momota-chan~!”

The Ouma that greeted him the moment he opened his bathroom door was so different from the Ouma he had pinned on the floor that Momota momentarily entertained the idea that maybe his head is playing tricks on him. But no, he’s wide awake, this is real life, and yes--- Ouma is grinning at him cheerfully with his hands behind his back as if nothing had happened, despite the growing bruise on his left cheek.

Momota grunted. After the emotional wreck that he had just waded through from the latest of Ouma’s antics, he was just tired. And angry. But tired in general. He eyed the Supreme Leader warily, as he sat on the edge of the bed and toweled off the droplets of water from his hair.

For a moment Ouma hesitated, but soon enough he skipped over towards him. He jumped on the bed and kneeled behind him, taking the towel from his hands.

“Hey---“ Momota started to complain, but to his surprise Ouma simply shushed him and started drying off his hair carefully. Momota let his arms fall to his sides, grumbling. “What are you up to now, Kokichi? I’m still mad at you.”

“Figures.” Ouma replied, as he continued on his work, humming under his breath. “I really didn’t mean it, Momota-chan. Lies are like that, sometimes it just becomes bigger and bigger and gets out of control. Like snowballs, I guess.”

“Then what’s the point of even lying? Why do _you_ keep lying? I don’t get it.”

“Sometimes it’s for convenience. Sometimes for fun. Sometimes it’s plain old survival.” He replied, casually. “I’m no different from the rest of you, Momota-chan. I’m just living the only way I know how.”

Momota’s eyes widened. Ouma sounded… sincere. Or maybe it’s his ear playing tricks on him. He started to turn his head to face him, but before he could, Ouma held his head and twisted it back. “Eyes in front!” he playfully said. “Or else this will be too awkward for me. I’m not really good at… feelings.”

“Okay...?” He complied, hesitantly.

“So yeah! As I was saying: I do have my reasons. Granted, they’re sometimes unreasonable, but I do have them. I’m… not as emotionally strong as I wanted to be. You were right, yesterday. I _do_ want you to hate me. I want you to hate me so much. But you just. Keep. Coming.” He made a nervous laugh. “I can’t deal with that, Momota-chan!”

He frowned. “Kokichi…”

“Shush. I’m still talking.” Ouma continued toweling his hair, despite the fact that Momota is sure that it should be fairly dry by now. “Now that I think about it, why am I even talking? I don’t know. I guess it’s better to just say it outright than to have you rip it out of me again. I’m so tired of having so many fucking breakdowns.”

Momota stifled a smile. “Yeah, you’re such a handful.”

“You do know it’s your fault, right?”

“My fault?” Momota scowled. “Come _on._ ”

“Yeah, it is. My composure keeps cracking when you’re around. It scares me.”

Silence. Momota did not know how to respond to _that._

“That thing earlier… please tell me you didn’t actually mean it.” Momota muttered. It was only after he said that he realized his tone was pleading. Ouma giggled softly.

“Nishishi. Of course not. I can’t die yet, Momota-chan.”

Momota frowned. Ouma said that as if it was negotiable, as if he wouldn’t mind dying if he was given better terms. He didn’t like that.

To his surprise, Ouma asked. “How can I make it up to you?”

It was so sudden, so unlike him, that Momota didn’t know how to react. “Okay, who the _fuck_ are you?”

He felt Ouma shuffle behind him. Perhaps a shrug?  

Momota considered his question. He realized that there was only one thing that could help calm himself right now. “I need your word.”

Ouma seemed surprised. “My word?”

“Yeah. Promise me you won’t do anything _stupid._ Something like...” he hesitated.

“Killing myself?” Ouma offered cheerfully.

Momota shuddered.

“The words of a liar like me doesn’t really mean much though. You sure that’s what you want?”

Momota sighed. “It’s not what I want. It’s what I _need._ ”

Ouma was silent for a long while. He then dropped the towel onto Momota’s head and put his arms over his shoulders, hugging him from behind as he rested his chin atop his head. Momota instantly felt better, relieved somehow.

“Okay, I promise.” Ouma said solemnly. “Anything for my beloved Momota-chan.”

 _Beloved Momota-chan._ Momota felt a warmth expand on his chest. For a few moments, silence reigned. But it wasn’t tense, nor was it constricting. In fact, it was quite comfortable. They stayed like that, simply enjoying each other’s warmth. There’s something very calming to moments like this, when their emotions are not blowing up at each other like fireworks. Momota didn’t want to admit it, but with the recent development it has now become apparent.

He was getting a little too attached to the Ultimate Supreme Leader. He wasn’t really sure if that was a good thing.

“Momota-chan, you meant it when you said you would believe in me, right?” Ouma started the conversation once again.

This caught Momota’s attention. He perked up, nodding. “Yeah, sure I do.”

“Cross your heart?”

“Of course!”

“Hope to die?”

Momota frowned. “That’s not even funny.”

Ouma giggled.

“So…?” Momota prompted, trying to get them back on track. He didn’t know where this is going.

Ouma removed his hands and sat down beside him, staring at the floor. His feet were moving in the air, in a way that seemed less playful and more nervous. “So!” He started… and hesitated. He opened his mouth… and hesitated. He looked around the room again with worried eyes, but calmed down when he saw the broken horse. He frowned. “This is harder than I thought.”

Momota was never a patient guy, but he tried his best to keep his mouth shut.

Ouma took a deep breath. “I want to trust you, Momota-chan. I really, really do.” He suddenly frowned. “Actually, scratch that. I _don’t_ wanna trust you. You’re so frustrating. But right now, what I want doesn’t really even matter.”

Momota shrugged. He was sure there’s a lie there somewhere, but as evidenced by recent events, it seemed his radar for lies still isn’t quite accurate. “Well, you did say you’d try. I’m not one to dictate what you should and shouldn’t do but… trusting me, is it really that hard?”

Ouma rolled his eyes and replied sarcastically. “Well, I’m sorry, Mister ‘let’s believe the fucking assassin because I said so’, for being more realistic and careful than you.”

“Hey, Harumaki isn’t a bad person. In the end, I was right!”

Ouma pursed his lips. “Debatable.”

“Why are you so hard on her, anyway?”

Ouma scoffed. “Doesn’t matter. I’m going to tell you something important. Something Monokuma should never find out that _I_ found out, if that made sense. I wanna keep it between us, at least for now. So listen, because I’ll only explain this once, okay?”

Momota nodded. Monokuma shouldn’t find out? It must have been why Ouma relaxed at the sight of the broken horse, a reminder that they’re not quite in the bear’s influence anymore.

There was a long silence as Ouma seemed to be organizing his thoughts.

And then… he started talking. And Momota would never see the Killing Game the same way again.

 

* * *

 

 

“A _show?”_ Momota couldn’t believe it. “We’re killing each other for a fucking _show_?”

Ouma smiled dryly.

Momota ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. He couldn’t even _begin_ to think about how fucked up that is, making this whole idea of the Killing Game even more sickening. To think that they’ve been set against each other just to entertain a couple of sick _bastards_ is infuriating--- it boiled his blood. He wanted to hit someone--- preferably the ringleader, whoever he is. How dare them… How fucking _dare them---_

“Momota-chan, breathe.”

He gasped, and immediately his head cleared. He didn’t realize how worked up he was, hands shaking, breaths ragged. Ouma was simply smiling at him with pity in his eyes, and a little bit of sympathy. Ouma presented his findings as simply a _possibility_ , but it made too much sense to not be reality. His anger was beyond the roof. He had to physically hold his fist down to make sure he doesn’t swing it into the nearest wall he could find.

Anger. Sharp, white hot anger. But there was something else there as well.

Regret. Humiliation. The thought that Ouma Kokichi, the brat they all decided to brush off as nothing but trouble, had done so much more alone than they did with all of them together, was almost shameful. Suddenly he felt as if they were all relaxing too much, as if their promise to Akamatsu hasn’t quite rooted in their hearts. Their promise to all escape together. What had they been doing to accomplish that, really?

No wonder Ouma always seemed so… frustrated with them.

“If you knew… why didn’t you tell us?” Momota demanded, as soon as he had the ability to. Ouma hummed as he looked up in the ceiling.

“I couldn’t trust any of you, obviously.” Ouma said nonchalantly. “And even if I did, I couldn’t clue Monokuma in that I know his darkest secret. I don’t want to be the next Amami-chan.”

“Amami? What does he have to do with this?”

Ouma shrugged. “Probably more than we think. It’s just a gut feeling.” Ouma laughed at his apparent attempt to copy Momota’s words. “Amami-chan seems to know a lot more than he let on. It just seemed so convenient for the ringleader that he’s the one to die first, you know? So utterly, impressively, _convenient_.”

Momota’s eyes widened at the implication of his words. He swallowed. “You mean… you think the ringleader might have something to do with it?”

Ouma shook his head. His lilac eyes sparkled cunningly, and instantly Momota was reminded of how thankful he was that he’s on their side, even if he’s fond of pretending he isn’t. “Nope, I’m _certain_ the ringleader has something to do with it. At the very least, I’m positive he’s responsible for the mystery of why Amami-chan is even in the library in the first place.”

Momota was silent for a long while, staring at Ouma. “You’re really…” he trailed off. _Amazing. Crazy. Incredible._ He cleared his throat. “… smart.”

A wide grin graced Ouma’s face. “Momota-chan, you flatter me!”

“Once we get out of here, we should tell Shuuichi and the others!”

His grin faltered. He shook his head. “No…” he trailed off.

Momota tensed for a moment, hoped against all hope that Ouma’s negative reaction was not on the prospect of them getting out together. Sure, Ouma already _promised_ … but he couldn’t help but get worried.

On that note, He made a mental reminder to confiscate all dangerous items in the room when the Supreme Leader is asleep. It’s the least he could do for his peace of mind. The day he’d been stuffed in this prison, he never would have imagined he’d ever feel this gripping, intense desire to protect Ouma from himself.

He wondered how much he’d changed. How much his relationship with Ouma had changed. Has spending time with the Supreme Leader always this… fulfilling? He could only remember them being aggravating.

“Not that I don’t trust Saihara-chan.” Ouma was saying. “I mean--- okay, maybe I don’t trust Saihara-chan. Not enough, anyway.”

Momota tried to ignore the wave of euphoria that he got on the prospect of being favored over Saihara. He bit it down, he really did--- after all, if things had been different, if Saihara had been the one trapped here with Ouma, then Ouma would probably be telling this to him instead. The Ultimate Detective’s skills surely would definitely prove useful in this discussion.

“You sure have a lot of trust issues, huh?” Momota couldn’t help but comment.

Ouma looked indignant. “I’m not the weird one. _You_ are.” He argued. “I mean, who the hell is stupid enough to just believe in someone they hardly even know, anyway? In a _Killing Game_ , no less? Do you have a death wish or _what_?”

Momota grunted and scratched the back of his head. “But that’s the thing. Sometimes you just gotta give someone a chance. You know… like Harumaki.”

 _Like you._ He wanted to say instead.

Ouma suddenly seemed thoughtful. Momota wondered if he was thinking the same thing.

“Anyway, maybe Saihara-chan is okay.” Ouma hesitantly continues. “But the others? No. Especially when the ringleader could be one of them.” 

Momota ponders this. “What about Harumaki?”

To this Ouma practically _hissed._ “I would rather eat dirt than have killer girl see _any_ of my work.”

Momota’s eyes widened. He was _not_ expecting that violent reaction. To be fair, almost everything about Ouma is unexpected. But now that he thought about it, maybe it wasn’t unexpected at all.

“ _Hey, Harumaki isn’t a bad person. In the end, I was right!”_

_“Debatable.”_

Momota frowned. The idea of keeping one of his self-proclaimed sidekicks out of the loop is an unappealing one. He just wished he knew Ouma’s reasons. “Why do you hate Harumaki so much?”

Ouma winced, as if the question hit too close to home. Maybe it does. A thought struck Momota, as he considered everything Ouma had told him so far. From the truths to the lies to the blurry mess in between…

“ _You_.” Momota stated, hesitantly. “…hate killing?”

Ouma gave him an unimpressed look.

Momota cleared his throat. “I mean, we all do, sure. But your hatred seems… a little more passionate than the rest of us? A little more… personal.” He reasoned. “I think.” He added on second thoughts.

Ouma sighed, as if he knew this question was coming. “I made a promise long ago.”

Momota waited.

The Supreme Leader huffed, suddenly looking annoyed. “That’s _it._ ”

“Oh.” Momota said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “ _Oh._ Right.”

Ouma didn’t bother to elaborate. Ouma pulling away at the most Ouma-like fashion, he’d just have to get used to that, huh?

The thought of spending time with Ouma after this imprisonment, maybe dragging him for a couple of training sessions to get his scrawny build some actual muscles, made him smile.

“Anyway, I’m bored!” Ouma said as he jumped down from the bed to the ground with a flourish, putting his hands in the pockets of his pants that Momota didn’t even realize were there. When he pulled his hand out he was clutching his switchblade. “So why don’t you let me, your amiable Supreme Leader, teach you a wonderful life skill!”

Momota didn’t really care what the life skill was. He was already more concerned about how he’d be able to somehow pickpocket that knife out of Ouma’s possession. Perhaps when they’re cuddling in bed later?

 _Cuddling._ The word hit him like a truck, as he realized his ears were burning. Not literally burning, but with how red and flushed it looked it might as well be. Oh god, they _were_ cuddling, weren’t they? Multiple times. So much so that his brain had considered it a natural occurrence.

Not that there was anything wrong about that! They had been sharing the bed for days, so it can’t be helped! Besides, him hugging stuff when he’s asleep is perfectly normal! Ouma is just like a pillow--- a breathing, warm, slightly irritating pillow.

He realized his mouth had turned dry.

“Momota-chan. You look red. What’s wrong?” Ouma asked, looking genuinely curious. If Ouma he knew what was on his mind… Momota would never hear the end of it.

He cleared his throat. “Nothing.”

He didn’t look convinced as he raised an eyebrow, but he shrugged it off regardless. “Anyway, as I was saying, I’m so bored, so let me teach you something worthwhile. Like lock-picking!”

This caught Momota’s attention. Lock-picking; a skill Ouma had shown significant prowess in as far as the incident of the Insect Meet and Greet was concerned. He had heard the others make scalding remarks about it--- how it was petty and unbecoming of a Supreme Leader, but Momota actually thought it was pretty darn cool.

He’d _love_ to learn how to lock-pick, if only there wasn’t that _one_ problem.

Momota frowned. “We don’t have lockpicks, do we?”

Ouma blinked, as if this just occurred to him. “Oh.” And then a grin passed on his face. “Well, I could teach you how to make one.”

Momota couldn’t imagine how this could be possible, but then Ouma went to one corner of the room and retrieved his white box--- Monokuma’s present. He then opened it and unceremoniously spilled the contents down to the floor.

Momota didn’t really think about the presents much, but now that he could see Ouma’s, he realized with bitter disdain that Monokuma had tried his damnest to make their supply of murder paraphernalia diverse. Aside from the obligatory shot put ball and handcuffs, there were no other object that matched the contents of Momota’s box. He noted that Ouma’s booklet was gone from the pile (he’s sure he had one, Momota had seen him writing stuff on it), but in its place there is a loaded crossbow, an iron skewer, a pair of scissors, and a cable wire.

Ouma sat down on the floor and took the cable wire, looking irritated as he skinned it. “Monokuma is always mocking me. Damn bear.”

Momota blinked. Oh, that’s right. Lock-picks are made of thin wires, right? At least, basically. Unfortunately, while lock picks were in demand before, now it isn’t. “Trying to pick the front door open would blow us up, huh.” Momota though, disappointment flashing through his expression.

Ouma shrugged. “But if it’s just for recreation, to pass the time, we could try picking the bathroom door! Are you up to it, Momota-chan? Are you? Are you?”

Momota huffed. “Fine, fine.” He tried his best not to look enthusiastic. Oh boy, he’s actually doing this. Learning something new is always exciting. As he watched Ouma skin the wire with precision though, his words echoed in his thoughts.

_Monokuma is always mocking me._

“So… is this not the first time that Monokuma…” he trailed off, making a gesture with his hand that he hoped look nonchalant, even if he _is_ pretty interested about the subject. “You know, “mocked” you?”

Ouma laughed bitterly. “Momota-chan, the fact that I’m in this Killing Game alone is already a mockery to me in and of itself.”

 _Oh, right._ Ouma hated killing on a personal level, apparently. Something about a promise. Momota hoped he would elaborate, but he had a feeling that’s all the Supreme Leader would say. He was already looking pretty immersed in his work. Momota cleared his throat. “So… uhh…”

“Hm?” Ouma playfully hummed, sounding barely interested.

“What’s ‘dice’?”

The blade clattered to the floor. Ouma cursed as he held his finger to his mouth, sucking it. Drops of blood flowed from his finger to his palm and down his wrist, staining his cuff with drops of crimson. Momota yelped as he leaned closer, trying to see how he could help, but Ouma was already onto it. It was strange though--- the Supreme Leader had wielded that switchblade with such mastery as to play the knife game a hundred times and not get hit even once, but now he suddenly got hurt with a simple slip of the hand?

“I’m okay.” Ouma was muttering as he stopped him from fretting over his wound. “I’m _okay_. It’s nothing.”

Momota wasn’t so sure. For some reason, Ouma looked shaken. Once he finished making a makeshift bandage with his knife and some cloth he’d ripped from his own shirt’s neckline (it was the first time Momota had seen him without the scarf. Ouma’s clothes had definitely seen better days.), he continued skinning the wire. Later, he started talking about the kind of locks and how lock-picks should look like, even using his pen to illustrate it on the floor (What’s the harm? He’d said. Let Monokuma worry about getting the ink off the tiles.). He’d taught Momota how to make his own picks using the knife and a bit of wire twisting, and showed him how it’s done.

They spent the rest of the day doing that, and while Momota knew they should be talking about how to get out of this place instead, he was actually kind of grateful for the change of pace. Besides, that topic is a little touchy right now, and he’d rather not think about it when he’s actually having fun trying to open up the locked bathroom door. Ouma was a good teacher, even though he teased and messed with him every second of the way, making statements like “Momota-chan, I would have finished that in ten seconds flat.”, “I _bet_ Momota-chan wanted to learn how to lock-pick just to perv on me.” and the most infuriating “Momota-chan is _so_ bad with his fingers.”

At that moment, Momota was struck with the sudden urge to throw him on the floor and show him proof of just how _not_ bad he is with his fingers and--- _OH MY GOD your head is in the gutter, fuck FUCK stop! Focus! Locks! Picking! Wires! Argh!_

Momota was horrified. Ouma looked amused. He’s _totally_ doing that on purpose.

He was not sure which was more appealing, strangling Ouma or drowning himself in holy water.

When the door first made that satisfying click (it took hours, Momota didn’t know it would be _so_ hard), he cheered and made a fist bump in the air. Ouma did his best to look unimpressed, but there was a ghost of a smile on his lips. Momota tried it again a couple of times, getting more and more used to it. He had to remake his lock-picks twice, but all in all, he got the basics down.

Later that night, Ouma muttered thoughtfully as he snuggled against him, both of them drifting to sleep. “Momota-chan, you’re sharper than I gave you credit for.”

He didn’t know what he was talking about, but Ouma did not explain it either. So they left it at just that, as the Supreme Leader drifted into slumber.

The next morning, Ouma woke up to the switchblade missing from his pants pocket. All the other deadly weapons in the room seem to have mysteriously disappeared. Momota’s pile in the corner had been cleaned up, and the astronaut in question was already awake, eating a cookie and offering him one for breakfast, as meager as it is.

Ouma didn’t complain, to Momota’s relief. In fact, he didn’t even mention it at all.

Though Momota had a small feeling in his gut that he’s forgetting something…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Ouma actually Sakura us? Will Momota remember what he forgot? Will Rev be hunted by pitchforks? 
> 
> Please don't kill me. o-o 
> 
> Anyways, yeah... yeah. Oumota. Yeah.


	9. "I don’t think there’s only one kind of hero, you know.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ouma breaks his promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What an ominous chapter summary. Haha... hahahahahahaha. 
> 
> Again, thanks to SnowyDawn17 for beta reading. Actually, at this point, she has become a regular beta reader. She helps me become a little bit confident that I'm not feeding my readers shit. I have a really bad inner Mikan. LOL 
> 
> *cracks knuckles* So, let's do this! :D

_Momota is always trying so hard._

That was the thought that had slipped through Ouma’s mind when he realized that all the dangerous items had been swept clean from the room. All but one. He thought it was awfully sweet, the way Momota seemed to take his job of protecting him very, very seriously. It was noble and charming but ultimately--- a waste. After all, the bottle of poison still lay there innocently inside his duffel bag, taunting him like an insistent pressure in the corner of his mind. Ouma did not know whether he should be relieved that he had already secured it or disappointed that he was not given an excuse to _not_ commit to his own plans. It was already the second day, and he’s losing time.

 _I don’t want to die._ His thoughts echoed in his head, and he made a small disappointed frown. He was learning more and more about himself the longer he stayed in this Killing Game. If not for the gravity of the situation, he would’ve never realized that Ouma Kokichi, in his core, was such a shameless coward. Clinging onto life so stubbornly…

He despised himself for it.

The clicking of the door caught his attention, as well as an excited laugh. Momota was on the door once again, successfully finishing another lock-picking endeavor. All morning he’d been obsessed with that thing, which made Ouma smile. He knew how much of an exhilarating experience it was to realize that no locked doors stood against you anymore, so he let the astronaut revel in that bliss as he ate the cookie Momota had given him for breakfast.

It did make him worry though. Momota was getting better and better at lock-picking the room that held the tiniest bit of privacy in their current location--- the very room Ouma had been planning to do his… he tried not to think about it. He really did, because the thought alone was enough to send his stomach spiraling, making him feel sick. And these days, Momota’s eyes were a little too keen, a little too sharp. He would definitely notice something was off with him. _Again._

Ouma supposed it was his fault. He needed to get ahold of himself. After all, he was nothing if not a good actor. But whenever Momota notices something off, he keeps cornering him to get him to talk. And that was... unnerving. And aggravating. The Ultimate Astronaut was  _really_ into talking your feelings out. How could Saihara put up with this? How could _anyone_ put up with this? At the moment, Ouma wasn't even sure if he’s fond of Momota or hated his guts.

Or maybe he was lying to himself again. Maybe he already knew the answer.

Momota finally pocketed his lock-picks as he walked back to the bed where Ouma was, a self-satisfied grin on his face. “I think that’s about five minutes! A new record! I’m amazing, huh?”

Ouma felt his mouth twitch at his enthusiasm. He rolled over with a playful flick of his finger. “Eh, you could’ve done better.”

“Hey, I’m still learning, so cut me some slack.”

Momota ran a hand through his hair, pushing away the stray strands that framed his face. Ouma wondered if he was developing a new habit, especially since he seemed to be bothered by his hair more often than not. He absentmindedly hoped Momota would start ditching the gel once he got out, because gels make hair go sticky and rough and just plain gross. Besides, he looked _really_ good with his hair down.

Momota raised an eyebrow. Ouma realized he had been staring. He made a coy smile as he tilted his head, not at all ashamed of having been caught. Momota frowned.

“Do I have something on my face?” he asked.

Now, _that’s_ a good idea. Let’s roll with that. “Yeah, I drew on your face when you were asleep this morning.”

His eyes widened. “What?!” He ran over to the bathroom to check, all while Ouma giggled at his gullibility. Soon enough he came out with an expression that looked absolutely fed up. “Ha. Ha. Ha. Funny.”

“Momota-chan, did you forget you were the first to wake up today?”

Momota frowned as he pondered this, his eyes blinking in realization. He sighed as he rubbed the back of his head. “Well, I’ll be damned. I really fell for that, didn’t I?”

“As expected of dumb Momota-chan! Besides, it _is_ funny! You should’ve seen your face!”

He rolled his eyes. “Why do I even bother with you sometimes?”

“Because you _love_ ~ me!”

Momota huffed. “As if!”

Ouma giggled. Momota looked unamused, but he sat down on the edge of the bed regardless, reaching his hand out to ruffle his hair. It was harsh at first, as if he was scolding a petulant child, but as Ouma closed his eyes and leaned into his touch, it slowly changed and became softer, more comfortable, almost like a caress. The Supreme Leader let himself revel in the feeling of tenderness that these moments bring him. When he opened his eyes again, Momota was smiling, his eyes twinkling fondly.

“You’re like a little kid.” He muttered, almost to himself.

Ouma pouted. Momota kept caressing his hair, making him feel a little sleepy. The astronaut must have noticed, because suddenly, he asked. “Have you been getting enough sleep?”

“No,” Ouma replied, honestly. “Your snoring is horrible.” He lied.

“And yet, for some reason, you still cuddle close to me every night. Could’ve fooled me.”

“I’m just feeling cold, that’s all.” Yeah, it was _totally not_ because being close to him makes him feel safe and protected. _Totally not_ because listening to his breathing helps Ouma calm down, enough to fall asleep.

The way Momota smirked showed he was not buying that at all. “Yeah, right.”

Ouma hummed under his breath, a small satisfied sound that resembled a purr. He wouldn’t admit it, but he likes it when Momota plays with his hair like he does now. Makes him feel… loved. Cared about. Reminds him of the old days when things didn’t have to be complicated. When things were just all about pranks and fun, not about death and murder.

He missed DICE. Terribly. But with the way things are going now, he’d never be able to see them again. If they were even real. He _hoped_ they were real, because it would really suck if the only person who ever showed him affection in the entirety of his existence was just a sick astronaut trainee that wouldn’t have cared if he wasn’t forced into spending time with him.

That’s a depressing thought. Ouma found himself pushing Momota’s hand away.

“What’s wrong?” the astronaut in question asked.

 _I don’t want to get too used to it._ Ouma thought. But he didn't say it. Instead he just smiled. “I just remembered I need to do something.”

“Something?”

Ouma simply nodded as he stood up, making a show of stretching lazily as he took out his pen.

He could feel Momota’s eyes on him, but he didn’t look back.

 

* * *

 

“You know what, what if we just push the button and fight Monokuma head on?”

“And get blown up to bits?” Ouma snapped. “Rejected.”

It has already been three days since the motive began, and was also the day of Ouma's self-appointed deadline. He was restless, but Momota didn’t need to know that. The guy was laying on the bed and staring at the ceiling as he rattled off ideas, getting shot down every time because there was _no_ way he’d come up with something that Ouma hadn’t already thought about, explored, analyzed and thrown into the void with all his other useless plans. There was only one way Ouma would be willing for this to end, even if it meant signing out much earlier than he’d expected.

Momota had made him promise not to do anything “stupid”, and he wasn’t really breaking it, not technically. This is not stupid at all. It was rational, logical, and extremely necessary. Besides, he was already going to break his promise with DICE, anyway. It hardly matters anymore. Even if Momota hates him by the end of it, he already warned him how the words of a liar meant nothing. It’s his own damn fault for “believing in him”.

 _I don’t want to die._ His inner thoughts persisted.

 _Suck it up._ He told himself. _Because we’re doing this._

Ouma took out the booklet he had been writing on these past two days from his pocket, tearing out a page that’s been scribbled on as he placed the book inconspicuously on the bedside table, where he’s sure Momota would later find it. He then folded up the page as he jumped over to the bed and crawled to Momota’s side. Momota loosened his arms, almost subconsciously, an invitation to lie closer. Even so, his eyes were clouded, lips turned into a frown, and Ouma was sure he’s still trying to figure out a way they could escape.

_Momota is always trying so hard._

“Momota-chan~” he chimed out in a sing-song voice, as he rolled to his side to stare at his face. Momota simply glanced over in his direction.

“Hm?”

“I want to give you something.”

Momota raised an eyebrow. His expression was wary but unguarded, as if he was expecting Ouma to come up with something nasty and troubling but was willing to deal with it either way.

“You know we have those bedside drawers in our dorms, right? Inside my room, I keep a shit ton of notes in there. I want you to see them sometime.” He chose his words carefully. Technically, they weren’t a lie.

Momota seemed surprised. “Oh. Notes? About what?”

Ouma shrugged. “Investigations. Plans. Suspicious places. Suspicious people. A couple of blueprints. I tried to make a map of the school, but it isn’t finished… “he trailed off. This was the real reason he wanted Momota to learn how to lock-pick, not simply because he was bored. That skill is very handy, and assuming his room is still locked like he expected it is, he needed someone to get those papers and make use of them. Keep the work going. He couldn’t stand the thought that it would just rot in his room.

To his relief, Momota didn’t realize his hidden agendas. He simply looked delighted. “That’s great! Sure! I haven’t seen your room before, I bet it’s a mess.”

Ouma closed his eyes, remembering the pile of boxes, the whiteboard filled with photos, collected evidence--- it _is_ a mess, now that he thought about it. He smiled. “Yeah, I guess it was. You should clean it for me, Momota-chan.”

“Eh. Sounds like a bother. As if I’d ever do anything for you, you little shit.”

Ouma giggled. “Liar.”

To his amusement, Momota grinned. “That makes the two of us.”

Silence once again, as Momota absentmindedly played with the tips of Ouma’s hair, his eyes coming back to stare at the ceiling. He looked worried. Of course he would be--- they were running out of time, running out of supplies, running out of hope.

“So, you were going to give something to me?” Momota reminded him.

“Hmmm~ maybe if Momota-chan would say please, I would.” Ouma teased.

Momota scowled. “I thought _you_ wanted to give it to me, why would I say please when I don’t even know what the fuck it is? For all I know, it’s one of your damn pranks. No thank you.”

“Nishishi. You got me! But it’s something important, really.” He said as he sat up and showed him the paper. It was a vacat page--- those lovely pages that were left intentionally blank by the publisher---  so there wasn’t really anything printed on it, making the stuff Ouma wrote look neat and orderly. There were two columns on the page, one lined up with letters, numbers and punctuation marks, and the other filled with strange lines and symbols, corresponding to each character. Momota frowned as he leaned up and supported himself by his elbows, looking confused.

“ _This_ is what you’ve been writing? What the hell is this?” He asked as he snatched it out of Ouma’s hands.

“Hmmmmm~ what do you call it? A legend? A correction key? Something like that.” Ouma brushed him off. “Most of my stuff is encrypted with the cipher I made a long time ago.”

Momota gave him a look. “So if I learn this, I’d be able to read that weird shit you’ve been writing on your book?”

Ouma shrugged. Yesterday he had given up on trying to be discreet--- he was running out of time and there were still a lot of things he still needed to write about. Momota seemed to have figured out that what he had been writing had to be important, and he did nag him about it a couple of times, but Ouma had simply brushed him off. The Ultimate Astronaut was more than a little frustrated when he found out he couldn’t read it even if he looked over Ouma’s shoulder.

“Keep it.” Ouma muttered. “You’ll need it.”

Momota hesitated. Concern flashed through his expression, but he folded the page and placed it on his chest pocket nonetheless. These days, he doesn’t even bother to wear his jacket anymore, which was a shame. Ouma thought it looked good on him.

“Okay.” Momota replied, watching his face.

Ouma was struck by the desire to hide from his gaze again, as it was the very thing that broke him to pieces last time, but he held his ground and smiled cheerfully. Just like that, the last piece is in place. He’d dragged his life on for as far as he could. There really… isn’t any reason to delay this any further. The last few days had been fun. Stressful, but in a strange way, having Momota around made things a little bit easier.

Ouma licked his lips. He was feeling a little too sentimental, he knew, but screw it--- he’s allowed to be emotional in what he assumed would be his last few moments. He placed his hands on either side of Momota’s cheek, making the astronaut’s eyes widen.

If there were last words Momota would remember him by, what would he want them to be? He found himself reliving Momota’s own words, two days ago, that day they decided to become partners--- _“You shouldn’t carry your burdens on your own.”_

He had felt irritation pass over him then, at how hypocritical Momota could be. After all, isn’t it him who carries other people’s burdens on his back even though he doesn’t need to, as if it was his own? Isn’t it him who never seeks help from anyone, who urges everyone to rely on him, who was content to make everyone think he’s _fine,_ because he’s _strong,_ because he’s a _hero,_ because he’s Momota Kaito, the Luminary of the Stars, even though Ouma could hear him retch in the bathroom sink with a mouthful of blood every night, when he thought nobody was listening?

But then again, Ouma was planning to die and leave everything on his shoulders as well. Maybe he’s no better than Saihara.

He didn’t know what expression he had on his face at this moment, but he hoped whatever it was it would engrave itself in Momota’s memory. It was then that he realized the words he wanted to give as a way of parting, a final advice, he supposed. 

“Momota-chan… maybe sometimes you should stop trying so hard. I don’t think there’s only one kind of hero, you know.” 

Momota’s brows wrinkled, but he remained silent as if he was dazed. He seemed to be contemplating his words, which Ouma took as a good sign. For good measure, and simply because he found it a waste to not give Momota a final teasing, he leaned down and gave him a quick peck on the nose before giggling and letting go.

This seemed to snap him out of his daze. His face turned beet red as he covered his nose. “W-What… What the fuck was THAT?!”

“Nishishi!”

“You little shit!”

“You liked it! Can’t deny you liked it, Momo-chan!” he said with a genuine laugh, as he jumped down from the bed. Momota probably would have tried to catch him if he wasn’t so occupied with trying to hide his blushing.

“I DID NOT! And who the fuck is Momo-chan?!”

“You _totally_ did! Or should I have kissed you on your lips instead?” He said teasingly.

This seemed to do the trick. Momota was left stumbling over his words, way too worked up about the whole thing to notice what Ouma is doing. The Supreme Leader opened his duffel bag, and selected the specific set of clothes he’d hidden the bottle in. He retrieved the “Murder Accomplished” button and placed it on top of his bag as well. Momota would need it soon.

“S-Shut up! I didn’t… what even…” Momota looked adorable, stuttering like that. Ouma almost wished he _did_ kiss him on the lips, just to see him melt down in a pile of mush.

Ouma simply laughed at his expression as he leisurely walked towards the bathroom. Before he shut the door close though, he gave him a wink that was several shades of flirtatious and giggled with elation at the answering squeak that slipped out of Momota’s lips.

The door closed shut.

Ouma’s smile faded. The resounding thud pulled him back to reality. It almost felt like a portal to another world as all the mirth was sucked out of him, leaving only numbness and fear. As soon as he was out of Momota’s sight he felt his legs collapse and his breath catch, as he crumpled to the ground like a puppet suddenly severed off its strings.

_This is it._

He locked the door with trembling hands as he turned on the shower, if only to fool Momota of what he’s doing in here. His throat was dry as he took the bottle out and stared at it for what felt like forever, but must have been just a few minutes.

_DICE wouldn’t approve of this._

He shut his eyes. No they wouldn’t… but DICE wasn’t here anymore. Or who knew, maybe they never existed at all. Maybe they were all fake memories Monokuma had given him to make him suffer, to mock him, as he put it.

_I don’t want to die._

“Shut up.” He hissed. This was not the time to hesitate. Everything was already in place. The people outside thought they were starving in here. Three days is the maximum limit that they’d be willing to wait, if they wanted to save them. _That_ ’s assuming nobody else is planning a murder for their own selfish reasons. After all, this motive would be a good smokescreen if they wanted to pin the murder on one of Momota’s close affiliates. Procrastinating any longer is already a risk. Anyone could die any minute. He needed to hurry, if he wanted his death to mean something. If he backed out now, he’d never be able to forgive himself.

Ouma twisted the cap off the bottle. Strike-9 Poison. He knew this one was lethal. There was no way he could _not_ die, once the poison gets in. Sure, it would be painful, he was prepared for it to be _excruciating,_ but he didn’t care. It did say it would take time to spread, but Ouma was banking on the idea that if he drank the whole thing, the effect would be as good as instant. He hoped it would kill him fast enough.

The Supreme Leader raised the poison to the heavens, as if he was toasting to Death itself.

And then he lifted the bottle to his lips… and drank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry. Please don't kill me. XD 
> 
> Don't worry, next update will be a double update... if you can call it that, I guess. So, I'm going to go now... and hide under a boulder so no one could hunt me and kill me. o-o I still need to finish editing Chapter 10. 
> 
> Thanks for reading this far! :D


	10. "Get out."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goodbye Hotel Kumasutra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally here! Yep. I got nothing to say. I have no excuses. This is my favorite chapter, to be honest. Beta read by SnowyDawn17. We both cried. 
> 
> There is a very important announcement at the end, I guess? So... read that. Yeah.

As soon as the door to the bathroom closed, Momota buried his face in the mattress and _groaned._  

God, just how aggravating could Ouma be? There is just no end to his teasing. He… He didn’t like the kiss, dammit! It’s not even a kiss, just a peck! On his nose! It’s nothing! So why is he blushing like a fucking schoolgirl?! And who the fuck is Momo-chan?!

He took a deep breath… and let it out, trying to calm himself. He was just so damn flustered. He heard the shower in the bathroom turn on. He supposed Ouma is already taking a shower. Damn brat.

He sat up and sighed… messing with his hair. Since their imprisonment (it’s been about a week now, hasn’t it?), he’d gotten quite used to not gelling his hair, so much so that he considered not bothering with it anymore if he gets out. _When_ he gets out, he corrected himself. The hopelessness of their situation was getting to him, as much as he didn’t want it to. The amount of blood he coughs up was getting more and more every day. He wondered if Ouma noticed it. He hoped not.

Now that his thoughts wandered back to Ouma, what the fuck was that? He’s being a huge weirdo again. His mood had fluctuated from his usual brand of teasing to serene sadness and then back again. He said that stuff about trying hard and heroes so _solemnly_ \--- so much so that Momota was momentarily caught under his spell, mesmerized. It was not the first time Ouma had a strange mood, but the last time he did he practically asked Momota to kill him, so it was reasonable for him to feel a little worried, right?

And that piece of paper…

Momota took it out from his pocket and studied the page. A cipher, huh? He studied it, absentmindedly wishing he had a pen to practice. Maybe he’d borrow Ouma’s once he got out of the shower. In the meantime, he used his finger, drawing symbols in the air. He tried writing his name with the code, and when he had gotten the hang of it, he wrote Ouma’s.

Memorizing was easy. Easier than learning how to lock-pick. It was basically just like learning another language, which Momota had a lot of experience with, being an astronaut trainee.

The sound of breaking glass echoed from the bathroom. Momota frowned. He straightened up, perking his ears in that direction. “Kokichi?” he called out.

No response. The sound of the shower continued.

He frowned. _Weird._ He decided to ignore it. He looked back at the piece of paper and proceeded to try writing the names of the rest of their classmates, starting with Saihara. Within fifteen minutes, he could already do so with minor difficulties. This cipher was actually pretty easy to remember once you get used to it.

The sound of the shower kept running. Unhindered. For fifteen minutes straight.

 _Isn’t Ouma taking a little too long in there?_  

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He stood up and walked towards the bathroom door, leaning his ear against it. He couldn’t hear anything over the pitter patter of the water against the bathroom tiles. He tried the doorknob. _Of course it’s locked._

He knocked, hesitantly. “Kokichi?”

No response.

He licked his lips. He realized his throat had gone dry. He tried the doorknob again, rattling it off against its hinges.

“Kokichi? You little shit, open the door.” His voice now held a panic, a panic that’s slowly seizing his gut by the second. When nobody answered, he knocked again, this time louder. “Kokichi? Kokichi, answer me! _Fuck_!”

There was a sound inside, very soft, like whining. And then Ouma answered. “I’m in here! What the hell, Momota-chan, did you miss me already?”

Momota’s eyes widened in alarm. Ouma tried to play it casual, but his voice was way too weak. Almost a croak. Breathy. Like he’s in pain. He placed his hand on his head. Was he just being paranoid? Ouma couldn’t have… He couldn’t have---

His thoughts wandered back to two days ago, when he swept the room clean of dangerous items. His mind listed down all the things he had confiscated--- did he miss anything? Momota tried not to panic as he walked back to the bed. Behind the bedside table there was a small hidden compartment, one he had discovered by chance. It was originally filled with obscene sex toys (well, this _is_ a love hotel after all), but he’d also stashed the weapons there. As he opened the compartment he started off an inventory, making sure nothing was missing and--- _oh shit._

_Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit---_

Fuck! How could he be so _stupid_?!

There was a bottle of poison! Somewhere! He clearly remembered it the first time he opened his present, but when he did his sweep, it was nowhere to be found. Did Ouma find it? Or worse yet, did Ouma _hide_ it? He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He was about to head back to the bathroom door and fucking _kick_ his way in if he could, when the booklet that was on top of the bedside table fell to the floor. He picked it up warily, remembering it to be the one Ouma had been scribbling in, and when he skimmed it he saw pages upon pages of encrypted text. On the last page, he was greeted with a doodle of Ouma winking with his fingers forming the letter V, as well as a single word encrypted using his cipher.

Momota could read it easily, and what he read boiled his blood.

_Sorry._

That was the final _fucking_ straw.

“Ouma _Kokichi_!” he yelled, as he ran over and started pounding at the door, seething, anger flowing through his veins like blood, adrenaline pumping through his system. He rattled the door as much as he could, but it wouldn’t budge. “Open the door! I don’t give a flying fuck if you’re naked in there, just OPEN THE _DAMN_ _DOOR_!”

Inside, Ouma let out a breathy laugh. Motherfucker.

Cursing under his breath, Momota pulled out his lock-picks and started his work on the door. He actually wasn’t quite good at this yet, but what’s the point of learning a handy skill if he can’t rely on it when it counts? Thankfully, he was quite used to this lock as it had been the one he’d been practicing on, though he still took an awful lot of time. Finally he heard the satisfying click, and with his heart in his throat he swung the door open immediately, just to make sure Ouma would not have the chance to re-lock it---

When he opened the door, he realized he didn’t need to worry about that.

Ouma was already on the floor, under the shower, looking dazed as he took shallow breaths. On his right side were shards of glass--- debris of what seemed like the remains of the bottle--- and his right hand was bleeding. His hair and clothes were soaking wet, clinging to him like a second skin, and while he did not look quite lifeless, the sight of him alone was enough to make Momota’s heart stop.

Ouma’s eyes widened when he entered, but they were glassy. It’s almost as if he could not actually see him. He laughed, but his voice was weak, the teasing lilt gone. “Momota-chan, you shouldn’t open bathrooms when there’s someone inside. That’s _rude._ ”

“Shut up.” He growled. He had the fucking _nerve_ to kid around in a time like this? He leaned down and reached over, bunching Ouma’s shirt with his fist. The shower continued to rain above them, soaking him to the bone, but he didn’t give a fuck.  “You drank the poison, didn’t you? _Didn’t you_?!” He shook him, but as soon as his fingers touched bare skin, Ouma recoiled, hissing sharply.

“Hot.” Ouma muttered as he struggled to get away from his touch. “Hot. Hot. _Hot---“_ he started clawing at his clothes, almost as if he wanted to rip them off, but his hands were too weak, his strength faltering. He whimpered. In the end he let his hands fall uselessly to either side of him again.

Momota tried to calm himself, struggling to think. _What the fuck should I do?_ He remembered all the emergency training he’d done with regards to first aid. “Kokichi.” he said, keeping his voice level, despite the anger and worry that threatened to fray it at the edges. “I’m going to get the poison out of your system. ASAP.”

Ouma looked alarmed as he shook his head. “M-Momota-chan, just let me… die quickly.”

“I didn’t ask for your _fucking_ opinion.”

Unceremoniously, Momota gripped Ouma by the chin, making the Supreme Leader groan in protest. He pressed against Ouma’s jaw, forcing him to open his mouth and without any warning nor shred of mercy, he pushed his fingers so far down Ouma’s throat that the boy was retching on the floor in seconds. Ouma gasped once his gag reflex recovered, still shaking his head. “Leave me… alone.” He hissed, his voice echoing contempt. “You can’t save me, Momota-chan. You’re only… making me suffer… longer.”

Momota felt his eyes sting as he repeated the painstaking process of forcing him to vomit once more. “If you’re going to suffer, so be it! If it would add one more _fucking_ second to that shitty life of yours, I’d do _anything_. You are _not_ allowed to die, you hear me?!”

“S-Shut up.” Ouma had the gall to resist, as he struggled to get out of his grasp, to no avail. “You don’t understand… I need to hurry…” he vomited once again, and Momota would have felt bad if he wasn’t already seething in rage. “it’s been three days… soon, someone outside will…”

“WELL, I DON’T GIVE A DAMN!” Momota yelled, and in that moment, he realized he meant it. He probably should feel horrible about that, but at that moment he was too worked up, too angry, too panicked to care.

Ouma glared at him with a look that was almost livid if he wasn’t so pale, but he was already retching on the floor again. Momota did not know how long they stayed there underneath the shower, it felt like hours, but soon enough Ouma was finally gagging on nothing but air, unable to throw up any more. It was then that Momota lifted him from the floor, carrying him back into the bed, not even caring if his wet clothes soak the mattress.

By that time Ouma already looked even worse. He was on the brink of unconsciousness, his eyes blank, and he wasn't even responding to him anymore.

Momota paced around the room. Something… he had to do _something_! He’ll be damned if he didn’t figure out a way to save this bastard. He wasn’t about to let him throw his life away. He probably slowed down the spread of the poison --- maybe, _hopefully_ \--- but even so, they needed an antidote of sorts to make sure he’ll survive. Monokuma _would_ have an antidote, right?

_Monokuma._

Hurriedly, he ran to the door that led back outside. “Monokuma!” he yelled as he pounded his fist on the door over and over and over but there was no response. That’s right--- the button. Where was the button? He found it on top of Ouma’s bag, right there in front for him to see. _Fucking hell._ It was obvious that all of Ouma’s actions thus far has been premediated, in order to reach his desired outcome. Momota snatched the button, his finger hovering above it.

Should he even press the button? Monokuma said he’d blow them up only if they messed with the door. Right? He shook his head, trying to jog his memory. It’s not like Monokuma would help them---- but he had to try.

He did not even have the chance to press the button before it happened.

**_“Ding dong, dong ding!”_ **

Momota should probably feel guiltier for the relief that surged through his senses at that very moment.

**_“A body has been discovered! Please assemble at the séance room!”_ **

_Séance room? The fuck does that mean?_

It didn’t really matter.

What mattered is that their motive is over.

What mattered is that Ouma didn’t have to die.

From the bed, Ouma let out a strangled gasp. His voice broke. “No. No. No _no_ _no---“_

Momota ignored him. He simply started pushing the button frantically, hoping to get Monokuma’s attention. When nothing seemed to happen, he cursed under his breath and started pounding on the door again. “Monokuma! Your motive is done! Let us out! LET US OUT!”

For a couple of awful minutes there was no response. Momota almost felt hopeless--- almost wondered if they’ve been forgotten, if it would be too late to save Ouma. He was just about to take out his lockpicks again and try his luck when the door suddenly clicked.

The door opened, revealing a familiar face.

Momota’s mouth hung open. The person who opened it was clutching a love key with his hands, his green eyes wary as he entered. “The others are investigating, so they sent me to get you, since Monokuma gave us back the key.” He muttered, making an apologetic smile, raising his hands out in defense as if he was expecting him to attack. “I promise, all of this will make sense when we meet the others.”

 _Sense?_ Momota frowned. He couldn’t see how any of this would make _any_ sense.

“You’re dead.” Momota muttered. “You’re _supposed_ to be dead.”

Amami Rantarou laughed as he put a hand behind his head in a nervous gesture. “Yeah, well. Tell me something I don’t already know.”

 

* * *

 

 

**_Ding dong, dong ding!_ **

**_A body has been discovered! Please gather at the séance room!_ **

Ouma gasped as he clutched on the bedsheets underneath him. He could hear someone’s strangled voice. It took him a while to realize it was his. “No. No. No _no_ _no—“_

Somewhere in the middle of the room, he heard Momota let out a huge sigh of relief. Instantly, hatred and disgust fill his being. _Who died? Who killed?_ Ouma bitterly wished it was one of Momota’s so-called sidekicks, maybe then he’ll deeply regret ever trying to save him. As soon as that thought entered his head, he felt sick. He wanted to throw up again, but his throat was already sore and his mouth gross from all the vomit. Despite it all, he could still feel the poison doing its wreckage inside of him: his limbs already felt like lead, his blood hot and searing as if it was replaced by liquid fire.

Momota was pounding on the door again. He was yelling incessantly, making Ouma’s head hurt even more than it should. He continued on like that for what felt like forever, but nobody was opening the door. Ouma would have laughed at the irony of the situation. _Now, I’m going to die for nothing. Good_ fucking _job, me._

Every breath was a struggle. His vision was already a blur. He must have blacked out for a while, because the next thing he knew, a familiar face was leaning over him, looking uneasy but worried. He asked something to someone else outside Ouma’s line of vision, but his voice sounded as if it was coming from underwater. Ouma could barely understand it, but he did recognize his face.

 _Amami-chan…?_ He thought, confused. Was he dead before he realized it? The thought was morbidly funny.

Grumbling. Some shouting. In the distance he heard Monokuma’s shrill laughter, the same laughter that haunted his nightmares. There seemed to be a commotion right outside the door, but Ouma was too weak to turn his head and look. Amami’s expression morphed from worry to horror as he ran in that direction, and Ouma felt his consciousness slipping, his eyes closing---

“Kokichi.” Momota’s voice sounded much closer. He felt himself being ushered to sit up, with someone’s strong arms supporting his head and shoulders. He opened his eyes but all he could see were flashes of color, most of which were distinctively purple. He frowned. Was the afterlife purple? The fuck was all that about?

He felt cold glass being lifted up to his lips, and his instinct was to recoil. He was already delirious from the pain, and at that moment, all he could think was that someone was giving him more poison. “No…” he croaked. “Leave me… alone. I’ve had… enough…”

Something cold dripped down his cheek. He was being shaken violently, but through all the pain he could barely register it. He could vaguely hear Momota’s voice, but he couldn’t make out what he was saying anymore.

Then suddenly, he felt fingers tug at his chin. Something soft and warm brushed against his lips with an unyielding force, and immediately he gasped, because something cold and good and _heavenly_ was flowing down his throat, the effect instant like an ice putting out the fire in his blood. His body craved for it, this elixir that offered him salvation, nectar underneath his tongue, and the next thing he knew he was pulling it closer, his hands clutching at anything to get it _closer_. More, more, _more_ \---

A growl. A sudden pulling away. He whimpered at the loss, but when he opened his eyes he realized his vision had recovered, and there was Momota, looking down on him. He was panting, cheeks flushed, lips moist and slightly swollen. He was a mess, but he looked utterly relieved. Ouma frowned, confused.

“Momota…chan…?” he murmured, before he felt his eyes flutter shut.

And everything went black.

 

* * *

 

 

When Ouma opened his eyes again, he was back in his room.

Despite waking up from a dreamless sleep, he felt tired. Sore. Like he’d just run through a marathon or something. For a long moment, he simply stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out what happened. How was he even alive? He could vaguely remember the sound of the body discovery announcement, Monokuma’s shrill laughter, Momota’s gentle voice. A part of him wanted to forget it all and pretend it was all just a dream, but he knew it wasn’t. The past week had happened for real. But if he wasn’t in the love hotel anymore, does that mean---

The door opened. Momota entered the room, looking tired. A look passed between them, and the astronaut scowled, walking over and placing the basin of water he’d been holding on the bedside table with a thud. Ouma cringed at the loud sound. Momota was staring at him with an expression that could freeze water.

“ _You_.” He seethed. And it was all he needed--- a single word to show all his contempt and anger and worry. He didn’t need to say anything anymore. Ouma understood. Even so, the Supreme Leader glared back. He had a lot of contempt and anger of his own.

“Who’s dead?” Ouma hissed.

Momota narrowed his eyes. Regardless, he replied. “Class trial’s over. You slept through it. Shinguuji killed Angie.”

Ouma cackled at that, mirthlessly. “Ha! What a relief, isn’t it, Momota-chan? None of your self-proclaimed sidekicks kicked the bucket, you must feel _really_ lucky right now.”

Momota clenched his fist. “I… I feel bad for Angie, but I didn’t have a choice.”

“You could’ve just let me _die._ I _wanted_ to die.”

He lifted his chin with a look of challenge. “Didn’t look like it. You were clutching at me desperately when I made you drink that antidote.”

Ouma frowned. “What?”

Momota suddenly looked away as if he said too much. Even so, he didn’t even have the sensibility to try and pretend to look guilty. “Look, Shinguuji was a fucking psycho. Even if you killed yourself, he still would have murdered someone on his own.”

“And _that’s_ supposed to make me feel better?”

Momota took a deep breath as he ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. “Don’t you _dare_ \---” that one word was like a threat “--- try to make me feel guilty. Because last I checked, you’re the one who wronged me. I’m not going to apologize for saving your life. You _promised_ , Ouma. I _trusted_ you.”

Ouma felt his lips twitch, morbidly amused at the sudden name change. Momota’s laying it on thick. “Well, I _am_ a liar.” He spat the words he had said before, what felt like so long ago now. “Sucks to be you.”

Momota shut his eyes as if he was trying to regain his composure.

“Did you like the feeling of saving someone, Momota-chan? Being a _hero_? Are you happy now? Am I supposed to grovel at your feet in gratitude? Huh?!”

Momota’s clenched fist shook.

“I’m _sick_ , and tired, of this Killing Game.” Ouma said, his voice breaking. “I’m _sick,_ and fucking _tired_ , of playing into Monokuma’s hands. But you just _had_ to fucking jump on it, didn’t you? You didn’t have to do _anything_. You might as well have killed Angie-chan yourself.”

Momota _snapped._

Suddenly, Ouma felt like the wind has been knocked off his lungs as the astronaut lunged at him and held him by the collar, lifting him halfway off the bed. His eyes were _furious_. “Fuck you! Why do you have to make it so hard for me? All I want is to care for you! I _fucking_ care about you, you goddamn dipshit!” he gasped, his breaths ragged, hands shaking. “Yes, I’m selfish. Yes, Angie’s dead, and you could say it’s my fault, but you know what?! I don’t regret _anything_ , Ouma. Even if you could turn back time, I’d save you over and over and over again until you get it through your _stupid_ head that _your_ life is precious, and even if you don’t think someone outside will cry for it, _I_ would!”

Silence. Ouma stared wide-eyed, stunned. It took a while for him to recover, but finally, his expression darkened.

“Get out.” He murmured.

Momota didn’t move.

“ _GET OUT!_ ”

Momota huffed as he practically pushed him back down, muttering under his breath as he turned around and left. The way he slammed the door shut reminded Ouma of fresh tears and clenched fists and being pinned on the floor, the novelty of his mask crumbling into glass shards that slipped through his fingers. He felt like breaking apart again and giving in to the frightening lack of control. The Supreme Leader bit his lip so hard he could taste blood.

He felt his lips tremble. His eyes stung. He was so overwhelmed with mixed emotions that he had no idea how to cope or bounce back. He didn’t plan for this. He didn’t plan to survive. Now he felt so lost, unsure of what to do.

 _I’m alive._ He stared at his hands in wonder. _I’m alive._ He hugged himself, not sure whether he should laugh in relief or gasp in horror. _I’m alive._

In the end, he laughed brokenly, as he buried his face in his pillows, fresh tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He felt like he was going to go insane. He wished Momota’s arms were around him, just like before, to keep him safe and grounded. But he didn’t have that luxury anymore. He didn’t _want_ that luxury anymore. He’s Ouma Kokichi, an evil Supreme Leader. He couldn’t afford to care too deeply for someone. Or have someone care too deeply _for_ him. It’s a liability. Something like this… doesn’t have a place in a vile Killing Game.

Everything was so much easier when he knew exactly what to do. This world, to him, used to be a chessboard of intricate moves and clever strategies, until Momota came along and threw it all up in the air. What was supposed to be his endgame ended up null and void, and now he had to start all over again, pick up the pieces one by one…

Ouma knew it would be so much easier if he just died. But he didn’t.

He didn’t know how long he laid there, buried in the covers, trying to shut the world out. But finally, he sat up, letting his eyes wander blankly around the room. The whiteboard was still in the corner, pictures of his classmates staring back at him, both dead and alive. The papers that he remembered he left on the floor had been stacked neatly on the bedside table. The pile of boxes that had been in the center of the room had been tucked into the corner.

His eyes widened in realization. Momota _did_ clean his room. And he chased him out just like that. Ouma really is… a brat. The Supreme Leader placed his hand against his face and laughed at the absurdity of it all. 

Momota was so cruel sometimes, in ways he didn’t even realize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have good news, and bad news. 
> 
> Bad news: This is the last chapter of Getting Along. Whew! I finished a fic! I guess that ending is... kinda angsty. Lulz. 
> 
> Good news: We have a sequel! It will be called “From Beyond the Grave” and will be uploaded shortly after this chapter. Just check my works, if you wish to follow the story further. 
> 
> So why did I decide to make a sequel instead of just upload it as the next chapter? To be honest, it’s because this fic isn’t supposed to have an afterstory anyway. It’s supposed to end with them agreeing to keep their secrets from the group and to go back and follow the canon story. But then around Chapter 4, I was hit with an inspiration: Hey, why don’t I revive Amami? That would be fun! And so an entirely new story plot opened. I realized it won’t be about getting along in the love hotel anymore, so the title and summary of “Getting Along” would already be inappropriate and I hate that. So I decided making a sequel with its own title and summary is better. Besides, the feeling that I’ve finished a fic is really, really good, since it’s my first one. Haha.
> 
> “From Beyond the Grave” would focus more on solving the Killing Game, add more POVs, and of course even more Oumota as seen from the eyes of other people. It will probably be longer, and I hope you enjoy it as much as you guys enjoyed “Getting Along” (My boy Amami is here! Woop!). I think of it as a thought experiment: What would have happened if Ouma had people by his side? What were the implications of someone being revived? Plus, I have a whole bunch of ideas about Team Danganronpa and the Outside World. They’re a little far-fetched, but they’re fun! 
> 
> So! See you on the other side! XD 
> 
> P.S. For those wondering, is Tenko alive? Yes, she is. Will she play a role in the sequel? I’m…. not sure. Then why keep her alive if I don’t have any plans to use her? Uhm… because it’s what logic told me to do, I guess. I do have an explanation of what happened outside, but you gotta have to read that on the sequel. So yeah!
> 
> EDIT: First Chapter of "From Beyond the Grave" is already posted. Just... FYI. I'm totally not telling you guys to check it out or something. Totally.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me, if you want! :D  
> Tumblr (mostly inactive): https://rev-eeriee.tumblr.com/  
> Twitter (18+ account): https://twitter.com/rev_eeriee
> 
> If you guys want to chat or see what I might be up to, go check it out. :3


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